


The Insurrectionists

by WaywardSun1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Corporal Punishment, Domestic Discipline, Family Drama, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Implied punishment and spanking, Intrigue, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, No Smut, Political Parties, Protective Dean, Some Humor, Spanking, Suspense, Teen Winchesters (Supernatural), Young Winchesters (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 78
Words: 226,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardSun1/pseuds/WaywardSun1
Summary: An intense AU political and family drama that pits John/Cas/Gabe against Lucifer/Uriel/Bobby over custody of teenaged Dean and Sam, who get condemned to 20 years of slavery for their father’s actions.Full summary:John Winchester: strict father, infamous war hero, and controversial leader of the popular Insurrectionists political party, is executed after falsely pleading guilty to various crimes and agreeing to turn his young sons over to his rivals for 20 years of indentured servitude. He left just one clue for his stunned successor and best friend, Castiel Novak: a phone number for Bobby Singer, fiercely loyal former agent of the enemy Opportunists.Castiel is desperate to rescue the boys and restore John’s reputation, but first must overcome Bobby's refusal to help him figure out John's true motives for his strange final actions. After several unwanted phone calls from Castiel, Bobby begins to suspect he was tricked by his own party into believing John was a criminal. Even worse, *he* is the one who now secretly owns the deeds for Dean and Sam...[Timeline is drastically altered: Cas, John & Gabriel are longtime friends, the boys are teens]





	1. Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, Michael is the Matt Cohen version. Not the later Jensen version.

**PROLOGUE**

**June 30, 1995**

**Insurrectionists HQ**

**Los Angeles** **  
**

Castiel sat back in his chair and tented his fingers thoughtfully. The dreaded first contact had gone exactly as badly as he expected, but now all he could do about the Winchester boys was wait for Bobby to cave in to his curiosity and call him back to open a more fruitful dialogue.

In the meantime, there were a hundred other things to manage. As he was began sifting through his long-neglected mail, Gabriel walked in the office and sat down noisily in the huge couch off to the side, so that Castiel was forced to turn around to talk to him. 

”Where have you been?”

Gabriel made a face. “Conference call with the PR team. You know, the one you are supposed to join every day but keep neglecting, so maybe I should be the one asking where _you’ve_ been?”

“On the phone with Bobby Singer.”

“Well, well. So that’s the mystery man. Sleeping with the enemy at last, eh?” Gabe grinned.

Castiel looked startled. “Absolutely not. How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Never mind, that’s not what...forget it. I suppose you told him we know our man was framed, even though I said we shouldn't let that cat out of the bag just yet?”

Castiel stood up and looked out the window, gazing to the far reaches of the Pacific Ocean. “I did tell him, and his reaction indicated he was shocked to hear such an accusation. Honestly...now I don’t think he’s as closely connected to the party as we thought he was. Perhaps my entire theory has been misguided.”

“So if he's a nobody, why did he get assigned to babysit John’s kids, then? That doesn’t make any sense, Cas.”

“I know. I’ll work it out. We have time. Anybody on the team have more guesses as to why John rolled over so easily?”

“Said it before, but we still think he was out of his goddamn mind is all.”

“I don’t think he lost his mind. You know him, he was up to something big. I just wish he had told us what it was before he got himself killed.”

Gabriel sighed heavily. “Charlie’s theory still might hold water: Lucifer’s minions threatened his kids and forced him into a confession.”

“I thought of that, too. But John had the option to have me assume guardianship, and he didn’t take it. They could've been safe in my home in a heartbeat, but he _willingly_  had them taken away and then died for it less than a week later. For nothing. Not only that, but whatever we think about Lucifer’s party on other issues, their leadership wouldn’t abide threatening children. I just don’t understand any of this!”

He threw his notebook onto the chair in frustration and went to make another espresso, the third one of the day so far. It wasn't doing anything for him at this point but making him more agitated; he shouldn’t have another and ignored his colleague’s raised eyebrows that said exactly the same. But Gabe kept his mouth shut; everyone who knew Castiel had at some point learned the hard way not to comment on his caffeine addiction.

“Well...at the very least, John really threw the Opportunists out of whack. They ousted more aides today, and I’ve heard more heads are on the chopping block.”

Castiel nodded. “It does seem strange that we’re getting all the good press considering only the two of us know John’s a martyr and not a traitor. And donations are going through the roof. If I believed in karma, this case would be a prime example for study.”

Gabriel nodded solemnly. “Absolutely. And what about his sons?"

“I don't know if we can get them back, and I can't afford to focus on them right now. Finding out what John was up to has to take precedence.” He drank down the espresso in a single gulp and picked up the notebook again, tapping it irregularly as he decisively plotted his next move.

“Gabe...I’m really going to need your help finding out everything there is to know about this Bobby Singer.”


	2. Ashamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This part takes place two months before the previous chapter. As the tags indicate, the story is not told in chronological order. If you're confused about what's going on, that's ok...nobody in the story knows what's really going on yet either, and that's the point :) Thanks for reading, and please take a moment to comment. I really appreciate any and all feedback!

**April 1995 - ISTSM**

**Undisclosed location, Virginia**

The first week at Indentured Servant Training School for Minors passed almost without incident. Sure, Sam was highly prone to childish outbursts over small things, but Dean fought to remember that it occurred precisely because he _was_ still a child and understandably upset that life had changed so drastically, virtually overnight.

The humble, diligent, and endlessly dutiful 16-year old Dean had never been spoiled by John Winchester’s power and lifestyle. He didn’t care about material things, and was kind to the servants and butler almost to the point of obsequiousness. Their quiet loyalty and devotion to him helped him stay out of trouble. He was well known for sneaking them money and forbidden items, and secretly throwing birthday parties for them in the expansive basements that served as their quarters. Dean was already keenly missing them after just a few weeks of being apart.

Sam had always been nice to the servants, but aloof. He didn’t dare gift them anything after being caught just once. However, he loved the lavish Winchester lifestyle. Relished it. At twelve, his precocious imagination had already conjured up a veritable timeline of pleasure and indulgence that he was insistent upon being able to experience. But he also wanted to go to college, to be married, to have a different car to drive every day of the week, to have season tickets for a sports team. The list was endless. He wanted his _own_ servants.

He hadn’t come to terms yet with the fact that none of the goals would ever be achievable now - except perhaps marriage once he was freed. Dean needed to make him understand, but Sam wasn’t ready for that talk yet. He was still asking when they were going to go home, when they were going to see dad again, when he would be able to reunite with his dogs. So far Dean had deflected the questions, even knowing he deserved answers...which would most likely never satisfy him.

After all, how do you explain to a 12-year old that the next 20 years of his life belonged to the enemies of your father, and that he had to do well with the opportunity he was given - which wasn’t much, admittedly - or else he would suffer even more? Considering the seriousness of the accusations that had taken down John Winchester, they were lucky they had any chance at all for a halfway decent life. And being a house servant wasn’t nearly as terrible as some of the other options.

Without that talk, things escalated quickly and Sam went into a crisis on the first day of week two, when half the class was busy preparing lunch for the entire class. First, he refused to do anything except stare at the wall and hum. Dean talked him out of that, but then, as they were learning how to pluck birds and check the temperature of meats, when Sam threw down the thermometer and yelled, “this is why we have a chef!” At first Dean thought he was joking, but that was not the case. He bent down to pick up the wand and quickly handed it back to Sam, fearful of what their temperamental kitchen trainer was going to do.

“Quiet, Sam!” he barked in a low tone. “You know we don’t have Chef anymore.”

“Yes we do, and he's waiting for us. Probably has lunch on the table right now! I want to go home!” And with that, Sam shoved everything off of the kitchen island onto the ground and ran out the door. Blood and juices from uncooked steak and pheasants splattered everywhere, along with broken glass from all goblets that had been waiting to be filled with (fake) wine.

Dean didn’t dare chase him; he couldn’t afford another warning. He raised a hand and waited for the trainer to look at him, and then blurted, “May I go and get him-”

“No,” said the trainer icily, as he turned to retrieve a box of gloves from a shelf and set it down on the counter. “Clean this mess up, now. All of you. Then you can let everyone know who to thank for missing lunch today.”

“But we can still make all the sides,” Dean insisted. “They don’t have to go without, please, sir.”

He gestured around the room. “We don’t have the time. The kitchen and floor needs to be thoroughly sanitized. This is a good lesson, actually. Almost a case study. In real life, you see, Samuel would lose his job immediately and the rest of you would have to clean it up for him anyway. This is-”

“I’ll clean it up myself if you’ll just let them make something for-”

“Have you forgotten this morning’s penalty for speaking out of turn? If so, I'm happy to repeat it for clarification."

Everyone now turned to gape at Dean in shocked silence, so he flushed, took the gloves, and bent down to start cleaning, first taking a moment to study his aching palms that were criss-crossed with raised welts. Sliding the blue gloves on was agony. His throat suddenly swelled with grief; Dad was a strict disciplinarian, too, but he would never dream of doing such a cruel thing to his boys. Dean missed him terribly and was counting down the days until it was time for yearly visitation. Only 350 days left...

While working on mopping up the rest of the blood from Sam’s tirade, Dean calmed himself and resolutely decided to stop delaying and have _the talk_ with his little brother. But first, he needed to talk to their guidance counselor and see if he could offer some advice.


	3. The Handler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set three weeks before the previous chapter.

**MARCH 1995**

**BRIDESBURG FEDERAL PRISON, PENNSYLVANIA**

“Jesus Christ, John,” muttered Bobby as he plopped down on the other side of the visitor’s booth, slapping down a thick file folder onto the counter. “What a bloody mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Bobby?” John queried in disbelief as he squinted his eyes, reached forward, and hooked his fingers into the wire partition that was separating them. “Is that….is that you?”

“In the flesh. Been a long time.”

“Holy shit. What...how... _what in the hell are you doing here_?” 

“I got asked to be here. Calm down, let’s talk like gentlemen. It’s just you and me. Nothing’s being recorded, and we only have one chance to speak.”

John was so taken aback that he literally could not get the mechanisms in his throat to work in order to enable to him to respond - had he anything to say, that is. For now, all he could do was stare and gape. So Bobby dived right in.

“Lucifer has appointed me as the negotiator for this discussion, prior to the arraignment tomorrow. You do know that’s happening tomorrow, right? I don’t know what they’ve told you.”

John continued to stare, and Bobby gave it right back to him. Several long moments passed.

“What. _the hell_ . are you doing. _here_ ,” John repeated, having almost recovered from the shock. There was no anger in the question, although there should be, considering what happened the last time they saw each other.

“As I said,” Bobby repeated calmly, although he felt like passing out from anxiety, “I’m a pre-arraignment negotiator. Appointed by Lucifer himself. We only have one hour, John. Shall we get to it?”

John stood up and walked away, pacing his little booth fruitlessly, hoping to exit. There was no guard to let him out, though, and after pounding on the door a few times without response, he stood against the back wall as far as he could go, glaring daggers at his former friend.

“Yes, I know the arraignment is tomorrow, to answer your question. But this makes absolutely zero sense. I repeat: _why are you here_?”

“I’m actually here to talk about Sam and Dean...more specifically, to discuss their future if you’re found guilty. You should know that Lucifer is aware of my previous relationship with you, and how much I love the boys, too. That’s why he thought my presence would be better than someone who doesn’t understand the depth of their attachment to you, and vice versa.”

John said nothing.

“Are you going to talk to me, or just stare at me like I have three heads?” Bobby asked harshly. “Sit down, John.”

John growled, “So Lucifer has some fucking balls, after all. Sending you, of all people, to threaten my sons in the same breath you claim to still love them. I’m perfectly happy to just stand here and stare at you for 54 more minutes.”

“Actually, it’s not a threat. I’m here to help.”

John snorted. “Right. Help. What do you want, exactly?”

“To be precise, I want you to sit down in front of me and talk about old times for a minute or so. Then we’ll talk about the future. There will be no more arguing from my end, but you’re welcome to it if it makes you feel better. Just don’t expect me to reciprocate. Please sit, John.”

Bobby watched as John gauged his expression critically, then crossed the room and sat down heavily. He smiled sardonically and pitched his tone up to an excessively cheerful tenor.

“So, Bobby, old friend. How have you been? Life treating you well? Divorced yet? Got kids? Been on vacation? Do tell.”

Bobby sighed. “Fine. Not really. Widower. No kids. Forgot what the word vacation even means. Anything else?”

“Not for the moment," John replied in a normal tone, feeling like a total shit suddenly. "I'm very sorry to hear about Karen.”

“Thank you. Let’s proceed. Listen, John. These charges...if you plead not guilty against the evidence, the trial is going to be an absolute shit show. Even without it, you must know the jury will be heavily prejudiced against you, especially with your recent tirade against your own constituents.”

“It wasn’t a tirade, it was a...forget that! I thought you were only here to discuss the boys,” John replied sharply, pounding the counter as he did so.

“In a minute.” He picked up the file. “Bribery of state officials. Abuse of the public trust. Corporate espionage...that’s the one that allows Lucifer in the game if he decides to bring criminal charges. Treason. I’m not here to discuss your guilt or innocence, but-”

“I won’t be found guilty,” John responded confidently. “These charges were only brought three days ago, but-”

“Yes, you will. That’s why I’m here.”

Now John looked at him like he really _did_ have three heads. “What are you saying?”

Bobby took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “I’m saying...look, it’s really difficult to say this to you, but I have to. John, this is so bad that _your own party_ decided to lock you up, not us. This is their doing. I’m not the enemy. Lucifer’s not the enemy, at least not right now. I’m just wondering how the hell it was _you_ that finally brought down the Insurrectionists? I mean, perhaps I should be saying thank you, but damn, I'm just as confused as everyone else. This is unprecedented. It’s sensational.”

“If you are already convinced of my guilt, why are you here?” John demanded furiously. “Lucifer should be doing handstands and throwing a party right about now, not sending in a negotiator. I would appreciate if you would get to the point.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “Again, I’m here to talk about what’s going to happen to Sam and Dean if you are found guilty by a jury. And about what we can do to prevent that.”

John grinned. “I can still read you like a book after all these years, Bobby. You’re threatening my sons because a trial could prompt me to expose things my double agents found that would bring down Lucifer, should I decide to bargain with the government instead of you. This is such an obvious ploy that I'm almost disappointed at the lack of suspense."

Bobby hesitated for the first time, and felt unsure of his own footing for a few moments. John wasn’t wrong about the party’s motives where Lucifer was concerned, but no one was threatening the boys. Bobby would never have agreed to such a tactic, and neither would Lucifer - who, ironically, was the one with the more humane constituents and party policies.

“Alright, John. Let's put emotions aside and talk facts instead for the moment. If you are found guilty by trial on or after April 1, your boys will be deeded to the state for life. And that’s whether you spend 48 hours or 48 years in jail. It’s automatic, no negotiation. You know that already, I assume?"

John nodded wordlessly. He was pale and sweaty all of a sudden.

Bobby softened his tone, hating himself for what he had to say next. "The Opportunists can propose a plea deal in which that does not occur, but you must plead guilty and agree to immediate execution. Before you decide, I'll remind you one last time that your conviction on at least one count is certain.”

Bobby reached over to the tape recorder and hit play. John sat stone-faced and said nothing, even long after the recording ended.

”John, the deal is simple. You plead no contest, agree to execution, and the boys will be taken care of.”

”I am _not_ negotiating,” John fired back. “The answer is no. Go fuck yourself.”

Bobby shrugged and stood up as if to leave. “Fine. Then you have zero chance of wrapping this up before April 1, and the deeds to the boys will go to the state. If you’re fine with that, I’ll just take my leave now.”

John’s expression could have set the world on fire in its intensity. He leaned forward, thankful for the wire barricade that would stop him from adding homicide to the long list of charges against him.

“You son of a bitch,” he growled dangerously. “Don’t you walk away from me again.”


	4. Intro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the very first part of the story, chronologically...where everything started to go downhill for John and Cas and the boys.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying so far. Please leave a comment! Both good and bad are highly appreciated :)

**December 1994**

**Insurrectionists HQ, Los Angeles**

It was 9pm, and Castiel hadn’t even sifted through half of his much-despised email for the day yet. It seemed like for every one he answered, two more would appear in his box to take its place. How was this technology supposed to make life easier? he wondered for the hundredth time. All it did was create more work in a shorter timespan.

The desk phone rang. Cas leaned over to press the speakerphone button and dumped half a cup of espresso into his lap at the same time.

“Fuck,” he blurted as he leaped up to snatch a handful of napkins from the sideboard.

“Not right now, honey, I have a headache,” John retorted with a snort.

“Oh. Sorry to hear that. I have ibuprofen and Aleve.“

John rolled his eyes and sighed. “Hey, call it a night already, would you? Your office light is keeping me awake down here.”

Castiel leaned all the way over his desk and looked out the door down the hallway. John was doing the same from his office, but the lights were off.

“You’re sleeping in the office? Did something happen at the house?”

There was a bark of laughter from the dark office. “No, I’m actually heading out. Dean isn’t feeling well. Hang up, I’m coming over.”

John gathered up his coat and briefcase and strolled into Castiel’s office.

“Look, I know you don’t celebrate Christmas and all, but I wish you’d reconsider for once. You've never come once in 6 years. It’s going to be a hell of a party.”

Castiel dabbed feverishly at his slacks with a comically large stack of cocktail napkins. “I’m not sure I would enjoy a party described as _hellish_ , John. Please forgive me for passing it up.”

\---------

**Winchester Manor, Christmas Eve**

Castiel went to the party, of course. He wasn't nearly as immune to his boss’s charms as he wished he could be; the man could get literally anyone to do anything he wanted. After giving his coat to a house servant and heading to the bar for a glass of water, his phone rang noisily.

_Unknown number._

Castiel never answered unknown numbers, and he proceeded to ignore it the next five times it rang with a call as well. On the seventh time, however, his curiosity got the best of him and he pulled it back out of his pocket and decided to answer. Since his voice as the speaker of the party was so well-known and constantly mimicked, he pitched it up a bit to avoid the caller identifying the number as his.

“Yes?” he answered. “Who is calling?”

“Do you have a moment to speak in private, Castiel? It’s important.”

Castiel moved outside to a quiet corner of the patio, interest now greatly piqued. “I think you have the wrong number,” he tried hopefully. “But if you tell me what it’s about, maybe I can point you in the right direction.”

“I am calling on the emergency line with some information that you personally need to hear. Immediately. And I know this is Castiel, so please don’t keep pretending I have the wrong number.”

Castiel’s blood went cold. That’s why the caller got directed to this phone; the emergency number that was given to all undercover agents was diverted to an unlisted office line, which was currently forwarded to his cell. He had never actually received one of these calls before.

“I’m listening. Please proceed.”

“Only if you promise to look in this immediately. I’m risking everything to call you right now. But I trust you with my life to do what you’ll say you'll do.”

“I promise I will address it immediately. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Political treason, Castiel, plain and simple. Four days ago John Winchester paid a leader of the Opportunists to plant an agent within the government, who would be working on behalf of the Opportunists. I was there, because I happened to be the particular agent that was chosen for the task. The problem is, I already work for you guys. For us, rather. So I’m bugging out, and I’ll need you to send me relocation and restart compensation. _Without_ getting John involved, obviously."

 _Holy shit._ There were almost 50 agents working undercover in Opportunist territory, and it was absolutely certain this man’s cover would be blown fairly quickly, if not the very instant he set foot in the capital. That’s why his career was over, and the party would have to pay for it no matter what happened next.

Castiel cleared his throat and tried to sound unconcerned. “Look, I know you have a verification code that can prove your identity, but I’m not in my office and can’t cross-check it. You have to call me back tomorrow at 8am Pacific, okay? Don’t say anything else until then.”

“Will do. I can explain further, but gotta run now. They’re making my arrangements to leave for the Capital and I’ll go, but somehow on the way there-”

“I can’t say anything more until you’re verified. I have to end this call now. You must call me tomorrow at 8am and no later. Be careful.”

He disconnected the call and carefully set his face expressionless as John approached him and offered a glass of champagne, which Castiel relectuantly took.

“Merry Christmas, Cas. You’re standing under the mistletoe, so that means I get to kiss you now. Always wanted to do that, actually,” he joked easily. A little alcohol always loosened him up enough to flirt with just about anybody.

“Maybe later, John. We need to talk. Can we go somewhere private?”

“Oooh, moving so fast. I hope we’ll be doing more than talking,” John teased again, although there was absolutely nothing meant by it other than to make his subordinate blush.

“I’m serious, boss. I just received an emergency call that you need to know about immediately.”

That sorted John out; he led the way to his first floor library, far from the opposite wing of the house where the party was taking place.

John was no longer interested in his wine and set it down on the sideboard as he closed the door.

“What’s up, Cas? You’ve got my adrenaline going, so let’s hear it.”

“The Opportunists are about to make one of our agents. I don’t know who he is yet, but he’s going to call me back.”

“Well, shit. Get Charlie to start the relocation process, then. That’s unfortunate. What exactly did he say?”

Castiel took a deep breath and tried not to let his nervousness show.

“He said...well, it was about a meeting you had on Tuesday. He is deeply concerned that you were misled about the man’s identity and motives. Seems the outcome of that meeting was this agent being chosen for a mission for the Opportunists which he cannot undertake or decline without being exposed.”

 _It wasn’t the whole truth..._ _but it wasn't a lie, either._

“Jesus,” John breathed heavily. “I had five or six meetings that day. Did he say which one?”

“No.” _Here goes nothing_ , Castiel thought. “But if you get me a list of who you met with, I’ll look into them immediately. We should be able to pin it down quickly.”

John looked a little startled. “Did you verify this agent’s identity?”

“Uh, no. Not yet.”

John looked annoyed. “Oh come on Cas, you know better than to talk to unverified callers on that line! Do that first, and then I’ll get you the list. For all we know, he was captured and is calling under duress. The code he gives will tell us.”

“But we should get started right away-”

“No. There's also the possibility he got cold feet and wants to disappear on our dime. When's he going to call back?"

Castiel had never lied to John before - even when he probably should have - and wasn't about to start now. "Tomorrow at 8am."

"Christmas day? Nice."

"John, don't you think it's best if we start to check up on those names right now? Why wait?"

"Cas, I _think_ we should enjoy this party. It’s Christmas eve. Come on.”

John swept his wine off the sideboard and disappeared without another glance at his colleague and friend. Castiel watched him go, his heart suddenly heavy with uncertainty. If John insisted on joining him to hear the agent's call, things were about to get _very_ complicated.

Merry Christmas, indeed...


	5. In Your World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a day after Sam's meltdown in the kitchen, but long before Castiel's first contact with Bobby.

**Indentured Servant Training School for Minors - Virginia**

Bobby Singer made his way to his office and glanced at the day's agenda that his secretary prepared for him every morning. He was incredulous upon seeing Dean and Sam Winchester's names on his visitor list for the day, for the third time in ten days. The boys could not stay out of trouble if their lives depended on it. If he didn't get them under control fast, everything he had done to keep them safe would be ultimately pointless. It was time to lay down the law.

\----

“Sam was freaking out in kitchen class, sir, and he….I just went after him about it and we-”

“What do you mean, _went after him_?”

Dean swallowed his resentment at the whole affair and kept his tone level. “I don’t think he’s taking our situation seriously enough. I got mad and yelled at him in front of everyone, and then I hit him. I don’t regret it and would do the same thing all over again to keep him safe. He has no idea what's going to happen to us if we don't finish this training, because I keep....I just...I need your help. Please."

Bobby groaned inwardly; had he known this, he wouldn’t have been so harsh in his lecture. It was clear there was a lot more going on than he bargained for with the young Winchesters.

“I see. Dean, you’re out of verbal warnings already. The next one’s written. Seven written warnings means you’re deeded to the state, and no one besides me is going to care what your excuse is. I’ve been force to to eject students in week 25, and that could happen to you if you don’t keep yourself under control, immediately. You have a long way to go and need to choose your battles wisely. Do we understand each other?”

Dean looked absolutely crushed. What battles could be more important than those he fought to protect Sam? “Yes, sir, but-”

“No buts. We’re still in week two. I had high hopes for you, but to be honest, right now I’m really disappointed at your lack of common sense and control. I have 60 students to handle and just the two of you have taken up all of my time since you arrived. Your brother is waiting outside. Call him in to stand with you, and you’re not to say a single word until I address you directly. I mean it.”

Dean froze, his increasing panic not allowing for any verbal response.

“Go get your brother,” Mr. Singer repeated, a little more gently this time.

Dean propelled himself out the door and spotted Sam standing dejectedly by the water fountain on the other side of the hall and called him over. To his credit, Sam hurried to his side without hesitation and looked sufficiently abashed.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. Are you okay?”

“For now. But if you mouth off again, I swear to-”

“I won’t!”

"Then get in there, and behave yourself." Dean gave vent to his frustration by shoving Sam through the doorway as they passed through, a movement that caused Bobby to raise his eyebrows in dismay. Dean looked at the floor, feeling ashamed of himself.

“Dean,” Bobby said in a warning tone, but then turned to Sam without further comment. “Samuel. I’m going to repeat what I just told your brother. Seven written warnings of any kind and you’re automatically deeded to the state. Period. Do you understand what that means?”

“I'm sure I'll find out soon enough,” was the mumbled reply.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Now, not only did you damage property and ruin the food, I also have a report here of you fooling around the day before and carving 'anatomical pictures' into fruit with a melon baller. Shockingly enough, you’re not the first genius to have thought of that. Just wait to see what happens when you all advance to cucumber canapes."

Dean glanced at Sam, fearing he would start laughing all over again. 

Sam was not in the mood for comedy, however. He wanted to argue. "That was harmless. I can't believe I got in trouble for that."

"Anything you get in trouble for is designed to protect you. When you’re placed as a house servant, behavior like that will cost you your job. And that, in turn, will mean you’re automatically reduced to the lowest tier of service for the state. For life. No second chances. Do you even know what the lowest tier is, Samuel?”

Dean answered quickly, “Manual labor.”

Bobby sighed and reached into his desk. “You’re speaking out of turn, Dean. Lucky for you, I don’t give warnings for that. Hold out your hands.”

Dean complied, eyes wide, while Bobby stepped around the desk and quickly laid down one stripe across each palm with a thin cane. It was shockingly painful over the existing welts, and Dean hissed and immediately began rubbing his hands together while tears sprouted unchecked from both eyes. Mr. Singer considered this “lucky?”

Sam was staring agape at them, turning white as a sheet. Neither of them had any experience with this particular form of discipline, as John Winchester openly considered corporal punishment on anything other than spanking the backside of children to be barbaric. It was part of the reason he had been so openly in conflict with his own constituents, who wished to bring back public floggings and were very close to succeeding in getting a measure drawn in the House.

Bobby replaced the implement in his drawer and Dean could see he clearly regretted having to take the action, but it was better than using up another warning. Dean reminded himself to thank him later...maybe it was lucky, after all, but it sure didn’t feel like it right now.

“Now, let’s try this again. Samuel, do you know what the lowest tier is that you can be assigned to?”

“You just hit my brother!” Sam blurted out hotly. Dean almost told him to shut up, but held back at the last millisecond and swallowed down his emotion. He wasn’t resentful, or even remotely angry, about what had happened. He was just scared out of his wits for his brother.  
  
“Sam, _answer him_ ,” Dean whispered.

Sam looked like he was about to answer, but then he set his shoulders in _that_ way that had always made Dean and his father want to scream.

“Can you repeat the question?” he replied with a smirk.

“Do you know what the lowest tier of indentured servitude is that you can be assigned to?”

“Yes. And I also know you’ve now ended a question twice with a preposition.”

“Yes, I did. But you started a sentence with ‘and.’ I’m not sure what is worse.”

“ _Which_ is worse.”

“That should be phrased as a question,” retorted Bobby lightly.

“Whatever. This is stupid,” complained Sam bitterly.

It was taking everything Dean had not to leap over and throttle his brother. He had kept himself occupied during this bizarre debate by wringing his palms together to help stave off the increasing pain, but it wasn’t working.

“Stop being a fucking idiot, Sam!” Dean turned and growled, being completely unable to hold his tongue any longer.

“Dean, be still,” Bobby said sharply as he glanced over at him, although there was a definite glint of amusement in his expression. “Your brother and I were just discussing proper grammar techniques, everything’s fine.”

“Yeah. Shut up, Dean, unless you can contribute something to the conversation.“

Dean and Sam immediately erupted into the petty bickering that young teenage boys do. So much for employing humor as a disarming tactic. Far from that, it had backfired spectacularly; Dean was visibly ready to tackle the brat and beat him senseless, and there wasn’t much holding him back any longer.

“Boys!"

They stopped their arguing abruptly and looked down at the floor.

"You’re obviously intelligent enough to grasp what you’re doing wrong, so I won’t spell it out. I just have one question: can you get your shit together before I’m forced to replace you with new students from the waiting list? I assure you, at this rate I’ll be making that decision in less than a week.”

“Let them in. It’s a stupid program anyway,” Sam responded petulantly. “Melon balls? I mean, come on.”

“I’m so sorry,” blurted Dean desperately, in tears again. House servitude was the only program that guaranteed them both placement together in the same workplace if they successfully passed it. They were lucky to be here, and he was furious at Sam for not seeing that. “Can we just...can I call my dad and have him talk to Sammy? He will set him straight, I promise. Please don’t kick us out.”

Bobby’s heart dropped, and he had to take in a long, deep breath to steady himself. 

“You know you can’t call him,” he responded gently. “Neither can I. Samuel, I’m not your enemy. Do you understand that?”

“Right,” he huffed, almost to himself. “That’s why you can just beat us on the spot whenever you feel like it. Go ahead, seize the _opportunity_.”

Emphasis on the last word, just to throw it in his face that they were not cut from the same cloth.

Sam held his palms out and glanced at Dean, expecting and perhaps looking forward to another round of swearing, but he was ignoring them and absently picking at the buttons on his coat. Already defeated. Depressed. Lost.

Bobby saw it, too. “Put your hands down. I understand your situation is unusally tough, and I’m willing to let your attitude slide until you adjust. But you must answer a question before you can go. I want to remind you that your indenture as a house servant is for 20 years. If you fail with this behavior, which is imminent...meaning, you're on the path to fail in just a few days...you will be deeded to the state  _for life_. You have no other options, period. So I have to ask: are you going to try and get through this program, or not?"

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry,” Sam replied quietly, without any trace of rancor. Dean was pleasantly surprised at how quickly he became compliant - especially after being threatened, which was usually the fastest route to a massive temper tantrum. He did not realize that was Sam had seen Dean’s grief and was really apologizing to him, not their mentor.

"Dean? How about you?"

"Yes, sir. Please forgive us, we've...it's been..."

“Forgiven. One last thing. It was a mistake to have you room together. I’m going to split you up-”

“No, wait-” sputtered Dean.

“I don’t want to hear it. Sam, dismissed. Go pack your bag and get ready to move.”

Sam left wearily, wisely refraining from spouting off again as he went, and Dean did all he could not to dissolve again in front of his counselor.

“Dean, don’t start that puppy dog eyes crap with me. A blind fool could see that you’re spending too much time together and all he’s doing is entertaining himself by pushing every button you have. I’m going to put him in a room by himself and that’s the end of it. If and when I’m ready to reconsider, I will let you know. Clear?”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Dean muttered. “Please tell me why.”

“Why I’m being so nice to you, you mean?” Bobby responded calmly. "You asked me to help your brother, and this is part of how I'm going to do it. He needs his space for the time being. You can visit him during the free hour each evening. There's nothing more I want than to see the two of you _not_ thrown into state custody. For now, you're the one causing the most trouble, not him. So keep it together and behave yourself."

Dean immediately got the point, took a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eyes. “Thank you for what you’re trying to do, Mr. Singer. I’m sorry my brother doesn’t appreciate it, but I do.”

“No one ever does. You’re a rare one. One last thing: Sam’s discipline is not your job, it’s mine. If you ever manhandle him again on my watch, you won’t be able to sit down for a week. Clear? Good. Dismissed.”

He watched Dean trudge out, hating that he had to be so harsh with him. He still wasn't sure whether to be grateful or hurt that neither of the boys yet recognized their “Uncle” Bobby from so long ago. It certainly did make things less complicated, but Dean's plea for Bobby to call his father to help Sam nearly broke his heart in a hundred pieces.

The boys did not know John was already dead, and Bobby was under strict orders not to tell them until Lucifer gave him permission to do so.

 


	6. Blackout

* * *

**Christmas Day**

**Insurrectionists HQ, Los Angeles**

Castiel arrived at the office at 7am, eager to hear back from the agent regarding the intel he had passed along during John's Christmas party. First things first - he had to identify the agent. There were five individualized codes that the man had to memorize upon his first day of work, and each of them had a separate purpose to be used to calls to their superiors or the emergency line:

1 - agent reporting normally

2 - agent reporting under duress, information is accurate

3 - agent reporting under duress, information is false

4 - agent is made, attempt a rescue

5 - agent is made, do not attempt rescue

Depending on what code the man gave, Cas would know the situation immediately and be able to act accordingly. His predecessor had been the one to take these calls; this was his first, and the anxiety was almost unbearable for several reasons.

Obviously, the first reason was because of the reason for the call. Number 3 in this case would be the best scenario in regards to what he had said about John. Number 1 would be the worst case.

Then, there was the problem about him having honestly told John the time that the agent was going to be calling. He wished he had lied. As a preventative measure, he had pulled Gabriel aside at the Christmas party and asked him to help get John as drunk as possible. The man's hangovers were few but epic, and if anything could prevent him from showing up at the office at 8am, that would be the thing to do it. Gabriel hadn't asked questions, and Castiel watched him bring glass after glass to their boss.

The last thing causing him such anxiety was the idea that he might have to go behind John's back to get the full story, and that was the worst part. In ten years they had worked together, neither of them had expressed any desire to be dishonest towards each other for any reason, for better or worse. And sometimes it was for the worst, but it never caused any longstanding friction between them.

Castiel had never lied, not once, and he believed it was the same with John. At least, he hoped it was so.

\--------

At 7:50am Castiel laid the book of identifying codes out in front of him, then stood at the window to watch the parking lot while he was on the phone. If John did show up, at least he would get advanced notice and could perhaps warn the agent.

A moment later his phone rang, startling him enough that he jumped away from the window and nearly fell over the horrible fluffy chair that he had been unsuccesfully trying to get removed from his office for as long as he could remember.

"Good morning, John," Castiel answered, trying to sound completely normal.

"Ugh. Don't talk so loud."

"Sorry."

"Just got to the office, but I forgot my badge. Can you come downstairs and swipe me in? I'm at the backdoor."

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

"Sure. Be right there. Should I get an espresso going for you, too?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Castiel hung up the phone and pressed the button to pre-heat the water, then made his way to the elevator with a pounding heart.

He should have lied. _God damn it._

\----

As they entered his office and John draped himself across Gabe's chair, flinging an arm over his face to shield his eyes from the sun, Castiel prepared the espresso for his boss without speaking. He didn't know what to say, in any case, there was no time. It was almost 8am. 

He handed the cup to John, who blew on it for some time before asking, "You think he's going to call? Hope he's alright."

"I hope so.”

“Hmm. Sorry to ask, but do you mind closing the blinds?”

Castiel nodded and closed them wordlessly.

”Thanks. You okay, Cas? You seem nervous.”

_Nervous. If you only knew._

“I am. Listen, John, he...he wants to talk to me alone. I'm not sure he will agree to say a word if you're listening. Apparently he knows me and trusts me, but it doesn't appear he knows you."

"Or trusts me, maybe. That's fine. Don't tell him I'm on the line, then."

"But what if-"

"This isn't negotiable. Cas, please don't ask me such a thing ever again. I'm the goddamned leader of the party, in case you forgot.”

Castiel clamped his mouth shut. John rarely pulled rank, but when he did, he meant business.

“And while I’m at it,” John continued sternly as he peered at Cas through half-closed eyelids, “I will nail your ass to the wall if you ever converse with an unverified asset again, do you hear me?”

”You are right on both counts, of course. My deepest apologies."

John leaned back and threw his arm over his eyes again, and fell silent. It was an expected and well-deserved chastisement, and Castiel was relieved to get off so easy.

But he still couldn’t shake the deep feeling of dread that had darkened his thoughts since first hearing the agent’s intel. At 7:59 Castiel lifted his cell phone, made sure John wasn’t looking, and discreetly toggled the satellite connection to OFF.

Then he sat down to wait for the call that could never come.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, “satellite connection.” It is 1994, after all...no airplane mode yet.


	7. Hate This and I'll Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is 7 months AFTER the previous chapter in which Castiel secretly doesn’t allow John in on his call with the informant. Obviously a lot of sh*t has gone down since then.

**ISTSM** , **Virginia**

**Week 3 - June 30, 1995**

“I need your help again, Hannah,” Bobby said gently into the phone. “I gotta start finding a place for two brothers for five months. A good one, no history of abuse or a bunch of turnover in the household. If you have any ideas, please let me know. They’ll be ready to enter service on December first. Can you ask around and see who’s looking for new servants? You have my number, call me back when you can. Thanks a ton.”

He hung up and turned to the next phone number of his list of closest friends within the party. “Hey Meg, it’s Bobby Singer. Listen... I need your help with some more of my boys. I’ve got two good ones, 12 and 16, who need to be placed together. I know you’re connected to the Crowleys, so can you poke around with them and see if they need anyone in one of their estates, or if they know anyone who does? Call me back as soon as you can, thanks so much.”

There was one more number in his contacts with no name attached. As usual, he stared at it thoughtfully for a while and debated calling it just to see who would answer, but set it aside for the hundredth time. The boys were due any minute now for their weekly review, and he was as nervous as a wet cat. Dean had been giving him strange looks lately, and it was possible he had figured out who Bobby was, or maybe not. Not that it would mean anything had to change if he did, but it would make it a lot harder to keep threatening to kick them out; the fact that they just might put two and two together and call his bluff was always in the back of his mind.

The phone rang a minute later at the exact same time as they knock on the door. Bobby yelled “come in!” at the same time he lifted the receiver, fully expecting it to be one of the school administrators to remind him of some faculty meeting or another. His phone didn’t have caller ID, though, so pretty much every call was a surprise.

“Hello.”

There was a long pause.

“Hello?” he repeated.

“Who is this, please?” said the gruff voice on the other line. “Just want to make sure I have the right number.”

Sam and Dean shuffled in, eyes darting about warily. Bobby held a hand up to stop them from saying anything, and focused on the caller.

“Nice try. Who are _you_?”

Another long pause. “I see we are at an impasse. Very well. I received your number from John Winchester some time ago, but I was not in a position to call until now. Can you talk? It’s important.”

Holy smokes. _What the hell..._

“I’m in a meeting. Let me take your number and call you back.”

“Not possible. When is a good time to call you back?”

Bobby looked at Sam and Dean, who seemed just as intensely curious about the caller as he was. Then a lightbulb went off and he grabbed the notebook he had recently set aside, and looked at the last number without really needing to. It was all but seared into his brain.

“Okay, let me read that back to you,” Bobby said slyly. It was a big gamble, but there was no other reasonable explanation. “310-758-5100. Is that right?”

A brief pause, now. “No. I’m not sure who’s number that is. When would be a good time to call you back?” the voice repeated, a little more tension evident than before.

“Actually, I’m not interested. Please remove my number from your database. Have a good day.”

He hung up the phone with numb hands and tried to remember to breathe normally. This kind of subterfuge was a thing of the past, better left there, and an unshakable feeling of ill-omen gripped him hard. He couldn’t think for a few moments, and cursed John silently for putting him in the middle of god knows what. 

"Damned telemarketing calls,” he muttered as he reached behind the phone to unplug the cord, then changed the subject as quickly as he could get away with. “Samuel, I heard you made another ruckus in kitchen class yesterday. I’m supposed to give you grief about it, so what happened?”

“If I wanted to be a chef, I could have gone to cooking school. This is stupid!”

“We’re not training you to be a chef!” Bobby blurted impatiently. “You’re a house servant, and nothing more. If you don’t behave yourself, you won’t even be that. If you haven’t grasped that concept yet since our last conversation, maybe I should just kick you out now and save all of us the time and grief.”

Sam and Dean both looked absolutely crushed by this outburst, and Bobby realized he had completely lost his grip on his temper and unfairly taken it out on the boys. The mysterious call had rattled him a lot more than he would be willing to admit. He calmed himself down, but decided not to apologize. Sam was acting stupidly and it wouldn’t hurt to call him out on it.

“Speaking of which, I fully expect that you both did the research I asked you for on exactly what it means to be deeded to the state. What did you learn, Sam?”

“I…” he was still shocked from Bobby’s outburst and couldn’t respond.

“I’ll get back to you. Dean? Same question.”

“I learned that I would rather die, sir.” He had unshed tears in his eyes; perhaps from Bobby’s outburst, but most likely caused by the fact he had discovered that siblings were always separated into different facilities and were extremely unlikely to find each other again.

“Good takeaway. Discouragement was the point of the exercise, after all. Sam, back to you.”

“Same answer, sir,” he managed to choke out.

Bobby had almost forgotten about the mysterious caller at this point, since both boys were now fighting back tears and looked as guilty as beagles caught raiding a trash can. But now the man’s voice came back with frightening clarity, and suddenly he couldn’t focus on anything else.

“Then we’ll consider this review over and lesson learned. Onward and upwards. Dismissed.”

They practically ran out, and Bobby plugged the phone back in and before the door had even closed he began dialing the number John gave him. He needed to know who this man was. But then he stopped himself abruptly and slammed down the phone. The call logs were closely monitored, and he would have an awful lot of explaining to do if someone noticed him calling Los Angeles from his work office. Not if... _when_ they noticed.

The number was for a close friend of John's family, presumably. Bobby had memorized it ever since John dictated it to him in their final moments together and made him promise to let the boys call it when they were ready to hear of his death. Bobby told Lucifer about the exchange, and the party leader agreed to honor the request, but only when he personally gave the go-ahead. That caveat irked Bobby to no end, but they weren’t ready yet anyway.

At any rate, the strange call had to be reported, even if he couldn't confirm where it came from. He sighed, went to lock the door, said a short prayer, and reluctantly dialed up Uriel. 

\----------

Dean was perfectly silent as they made their way back to quarters, but Sam was bursting with excitement.

"Shut up, Sam. Don't say a word. I mean it."

"I can't help it. You heard the number, too, didn’t you? Uncle Cas knows where we are! He's going to get us out of here and back to-“

Dean turned around and pushed him up against the wall, pinning him there in a tight hold.

"Shut. UP. I swear to god I will rip out your throat myself if you ever mention him to me again."

Sam pushed Dean off of him and wriggled away. "What the fuck are you doing, Dean?" he whined. “Are you nuts? Aren’t you happy he wants to help us?”

Dean grabbed him roughly and pinned him again, harder this time. “No! Castiel is the one who turned in dad!”

“What?!” Sam gasped.

“So you’re going to forget about him, and Gabriel. Forget that they exist. And besides, the whole world probably knows where we are by now. That call meant nothing, understand? This doesn't change a damned thing. You and I need to fend for ourselves now, and lay low and get through this fucking training before we get separated. You’re all I have, and if you-“

"Okay, okay. Stop it, Dean! I didn’t know. Get off me, please." He had stopped fighting, and his face was ashen.

Dean choked back a sob. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. But now...well, now you know. So don’t get your hopes up.”

He let go, and then pulled his little brother into a tight hug as they both dissolved into long-overdue tears of grief and loss.

“I’m so sorry. Forgive me, Sammy...”

 


	8. The Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues where we left off after Castiel purposely blocked his phone from receiving the agent's follow-up call due to John's insistence on listening in.

**Insurrectionist HQ, Los Angeles**

**Christmas Day, 1994**

 

8am.

8:30am.

9am.

9:30am.

The phone never rang, of course, and Castiel had not said a single word the entire time except to offer John another cup of espresso.

10am.

“I don’t think he’s going to call, Cas,” John said sleepily. “We should give it another hour, though.”

“As you wish,” Castiel replied curtly, without taking his eyes off of the code book. To say he was on edge was a massive understatement. Every minute that passed by felt like a lifetime in itself.

10:30am.

Castiel suddenly bolted noisily upright and dived a hand into his desk drawer, which startled the dozing John into complete wakefulness, and not a little bit of confusion.

“What the hell, Cas-”

“Shh! Someone’s in the building.”

They listened for a good 30 seconds and heard nothing, but then the unmistakable sound of steady footsteps on the metal stairway confirmed Cas’ worst fears.

They looked at each other askance; the safe room was in John’s office and there was no possible way to dart across the long hallway and get into without being seen - or possibly intercepted - by their unauthorized visitor.

Castiel cocked the gun that he always kept within arm’s reach in a hidden drawer. “John, lock yourself in my restroom,” he ordered in a whisper.

“What? No!”

The footsteps came closer, and there was the sound of something falling over or being dropped.

“John! Get in there!”

“Dad?” came a high-pitched tentative voice from the hallway.

“Dean?” they both cried out, and a few seconds later the boy appeared around the corner, then gasped and dived back again when he saw Castiel’s gun.

John collected himself quickly and then barked, “Dean! Get your ass in here.” Then, to Cas as he was calmly uncocking his gun and putting it away, “Thank you for not shooting my son, considering I would very much enjoy the satisfaction of doing it myself.”

Dean trudged in, holding John’s badge that he had forgotten at home. “You’re not picking up your phone, so I got in with this.”

John strode over to him and snatched the badge out of his hand,  drawing on every ounce of willpower he had left to stop himself from spinning the boy around and giving him the belting of a lifetime. He would never dream of doing it here in front of Cas, but at home? Different story.

“What _exactly_ are you doing here, and how did you get here?” he asked with that kind of dangerous tone that invariably sent John’s employees, friends, and even family instantly scurrying for cover. But never Dean; he was either braver or more reckless than most.

“I drove. Dad, Sam hasn’t stopped crying for hours. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Can you come home?”

John was stunned. “ _Drove_? Are you serious? Nobody’s dying or anything, right? Just checking, because there could be no other acceptable reason for you to-”

“It’s Christmas day!” Dean protested, and water droplets started to form in his eyes. “You said you would never miss another one.” And then, absurdly, he looked to Cas and smiled as if nothing was wrong. “Hi Uncle Cas. Merry Christmas.”

Castiel walked over and embraced Dean in the warm, crushing kind of bear hug that the boys loved. “Merry Christmas, Dean. Hey, can you go wait in your dad’s office while I talk to him for a minute? It's the one way down at the end of the hall with the green door. Don’t stand outside with your ear to this door, okay? Promise me.”

Dean looked to John for permission (he knew his father too well to do otherwise), and reluctantly got it. He went out with a sniff, closing the door softly behind him.

John glared. “Don’t even start on me, Cas. He’s my kid and I don’t want your opinion on this.”

“Actually, what I was going to tell you is that we should wait until 11 for the call, as you said. I’ll keep Dean occupied with my putting green until then. It’s only 25 more minutes.”

“No, he’s going to sit in my office and keep his mouth shut. And tomorrow I’m going to teach him a-”

Castiel’s office phone rang suddenly, quite loud in the abnormal quiet of the empty office building. They both jumped. Again.

“Sorry,” he said, turning around to the phone. “Who on earth is calling me _here,_  on a Saturday?”

John shrugged. “And on Christmas? No idea.”

Castiel picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“Jesus, Cas. Answer your damned cell phone once in a while, will you?”

It was Gabriel. Castiel’s eyes flashed to his phone; the satellite connection was still turned off.

“Gabe, I’m going to have to call you back in half an hour. John and I are waiting for an important phone call. Is there an emergency?”

“I wouldn’t bloody well call you on Christmas morning if it wasn’t. Have you been watching the news?”

“No. What’s up?”

“Put him on speaker, Cas,” John said suddenly, and firmly. There was no disobeying that tone, so Castiel hit the speakerphone button and hoped for the best.

“I’ve got you on speaker. John’s here. Go ahead.”

“John, it’s Gabe. Listen, one of our double agents was found dead in Colorado. It’s all over the news.”

_Holy mother of..._

“Wait,” said John after a few moments of shocked silence, “was he actually identified as one of our agents?”

Castiel felt nearly paralyzed and overwhelmed by anxiety and guilt, until Gabe answered, “ _She,_ actually. And if they’ve identified her as a mole, they’re not saying it yet.”

Despite the fact that he hated himself down to the core for it, Castiel found himself incredibly relieved and grateful that the dead agent wasn’t his man, but a woman. He would have turned himself in, and John would have known his betrayal, and-

“Why is this all over the news?” John asked, still reeling and not even thinking to ask who the victim was first.

“Well, because she’s one of Uriel’s drivers. Found dead with her bike on Insurrectionists property. And I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it’s only a matter of time before they find out what she was doing there. It’s been a drop for the past few weeks, and our surveillance video has already been subpoenaed. I think whatever she had was taken by her killer, most likely an Opportunist. It could have even been one of us, if they thought she was one of them.”

“F _uck me_ ,” John breathed under his breath. “If this happened at the Greeley office, she was carrying something for me.”

“Yep. She’s the only agent we have in Colorado right now. Sorry, John. Merry Christmas, huh?’

Castiel looked at John in complete shock; he had not known of any such operation, nor that any of their agents were in Greeley. It was his duty to know absolutely everything.

“What was she carrying?” Cas asked as calmly and disinterestedly as she could.

John ignored him. “Thanks, Gabe. It’s not even 11am and it already feels like a week since I woke up. How come you called the office, though? Just curious. Cas and I both have our new cell phones on us, and this is the kind of thing they are meant for.”

“I did. Yours must be on silent, and his went straight to voicemail like a million times. Listen guys, I’m gonna get back to this and get a PR plan together when the inevitable shit hits the fan. Look for an email from me within the next two hours for more details. Call me if you need me...on my cell, of course. That’s what it’s for, as you said, even though you won’t answer it.”

John pulled his phone out for the first time all morning and dismissed the 17 missed calls from Dean. “Yeah, mine’s on silent. Sorry, we were waiting for a call on Cas’ phone. Merry Christmas Gabe, and keep in touch.”

Castiel seemed frozen in place, so John was the one who had to walk around the desk and lean over to hang up the phone.

“Cas,” he said gently, “let’s call it a day. But first, I’m going to ring the emergency line and see what happens. Maybe our man has been calling all along but your phone’s not working.”

“Yes, that could be a possibility,” Castiel blurted as he swept up his phone from the table. “I don’t have any missed calls or voicemails, though.” He pretended to be flipping through the screens in confusion as he toggled the satellite connection setting back on and prayed for it to connect before John could finish dialing from his own phone, which he was busy doing at this very moment.

John dialed, paused...hung up, got lost in thought for a few moments, and began dialing again.

“Almost couldn’t remember the number. That could be a problem someday. Jesus.”

That single slip of memory saved Cas from having an awful lot of explaining to do. In the time it took John to re-dial again, and put the phone to his ear, Cas’ phone connected to the network and then began ringing.  
  
“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” John said pointlessly, considering they were standing three feet away from each other holding their phones at their ears. “Well, it’s working. Maybe it’s Gabriel’s phone, then.” He closed his phone.

“That does seem the most logical explanation. I would hate to think we missed the agent’s call.”

“Cas...you can hang up now, obviously. Maybe it’s time to have another espresso, huh? You seem a little shell-shocked.”

They both looked at each other quizzically for a few moments, and Castiel couldn’t help himself from asking the same question that had been previously ignored.

“What was the agent carrying, do you know?”

John shrugged. “Depends on the agent. I have a few things in the works.”

“Things I didn’t know about, you mean?”

“Castiel,” John began in a warning tone, purposely using his full name instead of the nickname to indicate that his patience was nearly at an end. “We’ve been through this before. We’re a _huge_ organization. There’s things going on with us that even I don’t know about, so you shouldn’t take it personally. I don’t.”

“Yes you do, actually.”

John sighed. “I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You, me, and Gabe together don’t possess all the brain power it would require to run this place. If we did, why would we hire anyone else? Do you know how many employees we have right now, besides us?”

Of course he did. “512.”

“How many of them do you trust?”

“Seven.”

John’s expression darkened, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s….that’s not the answer I was looking for. You should have said 512.”

“That would be a lie,” Castiel said simply.

John shook his head, and then turned away to gather up all his belongings.

“Time for you to go home, Cas. If our mystery man calls, you have my permission to keep him on the line - in silence - while you race back to the office to verify him. But you’re leaving, and so am I.”

“Don’t forget about Dean,” Castiel mumbled. “And take it easy on him. It’s Christmas.” He was clearly unhappy with his boss right now for several reasons, but John didn’t have the energy to hold his chief strategist’s hand again. They went through this little crisis every once in a while, but it always blew over quickly.

“Yeah, I know. I’m mostly just mad he drove the Impala alone. Damned unsafe.”

The three of them walked out together, Dean perfectly silent as John held his arm in an iron grip all the way to the backseat of the car (not the front, which meant he was really in trouble), and drove one behind the other to their respective houses down the street from each other.

Castiel was obliged to fight the urge to look at his phone again until he was in the safety and privacy of his home, upon which he sat down at the kitchen table and forced himself to breathe through ninety seconds of calming meditation.

Now...the phone. He was not at all surprised to see 9 voicemails since 8am. Two from Gabe, one from Dean. Six from an unknown caller. He took a deep breath, cursed himself for being so paranoid, and then dialed into the message center.


	9. Unintended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from previous chapter.

**Winchester Home**

John was still furious as he threw the car in park and got out to haul Dean out of the backseat. His oldest had other ideas about that, though, and quickly emerged from the opposite side of the car. Safe out of his dad's crushing grip.

"Dad, can I-"

"Dean, it's Christmas day so we're going to put this discussion off until tomorrow. I don't want any apologies right now. In fact, don't say anything. Just get inside."

Dean stood stock still and looked John in the eyes. "I wasn't going to apologize, no matter what you do today or tomorrow. Sam needed you, and you broke your promise."

"So you drove the Impala by yourself and then snuck into my office-"

"And I would do it again," Dean interrupted calmly, with a dangerously sullen expression. "It's not my fault your phones were off. What if we had a real emergency, dad? Like one of us was dying? Would you even care, then?"

"My phone was on silent for a reason. You have Castiel's number, why didn't you call him? He knows never to ignore a call from you."

"I did! Like a million times. It just went straight to voicemail. And you never picked up your office line since you were in his office, and I don't even know his office number so I couldn't call that. This is so unfair, dad. You basically abandoned us. On Christmas day, and I'm going to be the one punished for it?"

John said nothing more about the unauthorized drive; Dean’s comments about Castiel’s phone instantly took precedence. His mind flashed back to what had transpired over the past three hours with the call that never came.

Dean mistook his dad’s sudden silence for penance and strode past him into the house. 

John didn't even notice. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the emergency number.

\----

**Castiel's Townhouse**

_You have. Nine. New Messages._

_First message, 8:01am: "Uh....please tell me you missed my call because you're taking a dump, and not because you're freezing me out. I'll call back in five minutes."_

_Delete message? 1 for yes, 2 for no. Message deleted._

_Message two, 8:07am: "Castiel, for god's sake. I called when you told me to, where the hell are you? Are you not picking up because John is with you? Get rid of him, we've gotta talk."_

_Delete message? 1 for yes, 2 for no. Message deleted._

_Message three, 8:29am: "So this is how you treat your agents, huh? I risk my life for you guys, and you won't even answer my fucking phone call? I'm calling back at 9. You better fucking pick up the phone, Castiel. My life is on the line."_

_Delete message? 1 for yes, 2 for no. Message deleted._

_Message four, 8:31am: "Cas, it's Gabe. We've got a bad situation going on. Call me back ASAP."_

_Delete message? 1 for yes, 2 for no. Message saved._

_Message five, 9:00am: "I take it John's still with you. Man, if you don't pick up at 9:30 I'm going to...just, pick up the phone!"_

_Delete message? 1 for yes, 2 for no. Message deleted._

_Message six, 9:28am: "Cas, it's Gabe again. I can't reach John, guessing he's still out cold from that hangover you wanted him to have. What the hell was that about, anyway? Call me ASAP, our Colorado agent just got ganked. I need to talk to you."_

_Delete message? 1 for yes, 2 for no. Message deleted._

_Message seven, 9:35am: "I'm trying one more time, Castiel. If I get ganked before you get the whole story, you've got no one to blame but yourself."_

_Delete message? 1 for yes, 2 for no. Message deleted._

_Message eight, 10:02am: "Uncle Cas, it's Dean. I'm waiting outside the office to pick dad up. He hasn't called me and Sam needs help. Can you call me right back? If not, I'll come in. I have dad's badge. Thanks."_

_Delete message? 1 for yes, 2 for no. Message saved._

_Message nine, 10:33am: "Fuck you all. I'm calling Gabriel. And he's not going to be happy to get this story on top of the other one today. Hope you lose your job like I just lost mine because of our fearless leader's treason. Merry fucking Christmas."_

Castiel jerked upright and threw down the phone in horror. Shit, had he already called Gabriel? Then the phone rang again: the emergency line. Castiel blanched, then shakily took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and hit the answer button.

"Yes?"

"Hey. Long time no talk. It's John."

There was a telling pause. "I don't understand. We were just together about 25 minutes ago."

John groaned. "I wanted to test this number again. Dean just told me he's been calling you all morning and your phone wasn't picking up. First thing tomorrow morning I want you and Kevin to get on this. Nothing else takes priority, not even the dead woman. We didn't spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on telecommunications infrastructure to be missing calls from agents whose lives are in danger. For all we know, she was calling it, too."

Castiel had to fight to remember to breathe again. "I will get on it. First thing tomorrow," he repeated. 

"I need you to call around to the field supervisors today and have them check in with our remaining agents, see if anyone else has gone missing."

"Right away. Is Sam alright?"

"I don't know, I haven't gone inside yet. Talk to you later."

John hung up and went into the house. Sam was sitting askew on the couch, having cried himself into exhaustion, and Dean was there with his arm wrapped protectively around his little brother. John could not possibly ignore the critically hostile expression his oldest was wearing.

"Dean," he said sharply, "come with me for a minute. Just want to get this talk over with so we can move on to our Christmas festivities."

"I don't want to talk."

John didn't have time for this; he grabbed his son by the arm again and hauled him into the study. Dean didn't try to struggle, not even when John forced him to stand still and look him in the eyes.

"Dean, I'm only going to say this one time," he said calmly, without rancor. "I shouldn't even be telling you at all, because I don't want you to have dangerous information. You heard of the woman that was found dead in Colorado this morning?"

Dean swallowed hard, then nodded. "It's....yeah, it was on the news. One of Uriel's assistants."

"His driver, specifically. She was a double agent. For me. That's why I got stuck at the office, okay? That, and one other thing going on that Castiel is handling. If I could have gotten away sooner, I would have. We were actually on the way out when you showed up. I did _not_ forget it was Christmas. Do you understand?" His tone was very gentle now, and indeed, he was feeling extremely sorry for manhandling one of his children (twice) on Christmas day.

Dean nodded, expression already less angry. "So...you're going to be working all day, then?"

"No. Gabe is handling this one. I'm only angry about you driving the Impala by yourself. You have a driver's permit that allows you behind the wheel if - and _only_ if - an adult is with you. You could have been stopped by the cops and arrested."

"But it was only-"

"Our drivers literally live fifty feet from where we’re standing, and I've instructed you a hundred times to use them if something like this happens. You did when Sam broke his wrist, and when the dog needed to go to the vet. There was no excuse for this today, Dean. None. I know you care about your brother, but you have to keep your head on your shoulders and think straight in times of crisis. I'm very disappointed with you right now."

Ouch. Dean didn't have an answer for that.....what possible defense _could_ he have?

"Okay, dad. I'm sorry," Dean mumbled contritely. He really was, too.

"I can see that you are. You're forgiven, but I'll still have to punish you tomorrow."

"How?"

"What do _you_ think?"

Dean swallowed hard, then said quietly, "It's so much worse waiting, can't we just do it now? Sammy's asleep."

"No," John replied firmly. "It's Christmas. Pull yourself together and then come out to open your presents."

John left the study and went to pour himself a long overdue glass of whiskey.

\-------

"Gabe, it's Cas."

"For the hundredth time, I know. That's what caller ID is for. What's up?"

"An agent called through on the emergency line yesterday and then tried to call it back again this morning. For whatever reason, it didn't forward to my phone. He said he's going to call you, so I was just wondering if you had heard from him."

"But...if it didn't go through, how do you know he's going to call me?"

 _Shit._ "Well, the call itself didn't come through, but the voicemail did. Eventually. I just got it now."

There was a long pause while Gabriel moved away from the sound of Christmas festivities, and the other line became progressively quieter until there was no sound at all.

"Gabe? You there?"

 "Yeah, I'm here. And yes, I got his call about half an hour ago. You and I need to talk."

"I know. When?"

"Now. You said that your phone wasn't working this morning, which I find really strange. The technology has proven to be extremely reliable."

Castiel swallowed hard. "Yeah, I know. John wants me to get on it in the morning with Kevin. Maybe it was-"

"Cas, _stop_. I know you were hiding this agent's calls. Blocking them, because you were with John. That explains why my calls to you didn't go through, either. For hours."

There was nothing to say. Visions of packing up office boxes and being disgracefully escorted out of the building suddenly filled Castiel's vivid imagination. Ten years of friendship with John and Gabe, and countless hours of hard work with the Insurrectionists. Wasted.

"If you really did talk to the agent," Cas eventually replied, very slowly, "then you'll know why I did that. But...if you and John want my resignation, you can have it today."

Gabe sighed. "Yeah, and I'd be next in line behind you for talking with an unverified asset. This stays between us. What did you think of this agent's claims?"

That change of tack threw Castiel for a loop, and he took his phone away from his ear, stared at it quizzically, and then put it back.

"I...I...there's no reason not to look into them. Except that it feels so wrong doing it without John.”

"You’ll have to get over that. This isn't an emotional or subjective decision, Cas. We have to do it. You should know that from the start. To be honest, I'm disappointed you didn't come to me yesterday and tell me this was going on. I could have diverted the calls to my phone and talked to the guy while you waited at the office. At least now I know why you used me to get John drunk. This is just shameful all around."

Gabe was clearly angry now, and Cas had to work hard to put that fire out. Fast.

"You're right," he said contritely. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have condescended to subterfuge."

"No, you shouldn't have, and if you ever do it again I'll turn you in to John myself. Now, moving on. Can you talk about 9pm tonight? My family should be asleep by then."

"Yes."  
  
"Good. Talk to you then."

_Click_

 

 


	10. Agitated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows previous chapter

Dean was still sulking after dinner despite a couple of impromptu swats to his rear that John had administered in the early afternoon for an attitude adjustment. It surprisingly hadn’t worked, but at least Sam had been significantly cheered by the quality and quantity of his Christmas presents. It even appeared he had forgotten all about this morning’s drama, which irritated Dean to no end, because now Sam got off scot-free and Dean was going to be the one suffering tomorrow morning for his brother’s tantrums.

“Dean,” John called from behind his giant mug as his oldest went around collecting all the discarded wrapping paper and angrily stuffing it into the trash compactor. Sammy was already asleep, of course, and didn't have to help. As usual. The kid knew how to get out of his chores.

“Yes, sir?” Dean replied automatically.

“Did you like your Christmas presents? You haven’t said much. Hope you aren’t disappointed. Sam seemed to be hurt you weren’t excited about the video games he gave you.”

“Because they’re stupid, and I already had two of them. His lazy ass didn’t even bother to check.” 

John was the one who had picked out the games, so Dean’s rude comments were officially the last straw for the day.

“Alright. That’s enough. Get in your pajamas and go to the spare room. When I’m done with my coffee, we’re going to have a chat. Leave your phone with me.”

Dean stopped what he was doing to hand his dad his phone, then he turned away and rolled his eyes as he trudged upstairs to change.

The 10x10 “spare room” with its bright white walls, white tile floor, and little twin bed pushed into the corner was seriously disliked by the brothers, and usually the threat of being sent there for a few hours was enough to straighten them up. The windows were still frosted due to its former life as a kitchen pantry, and the room was constantly cold due to a problem with the heating unit that had yet to be resolved. But worse than that, it was horribly, incredibly boring. And it made a person think too much. Dean had nicknamed it “the asylum.”

John knew full well that sending his boys to their own rooms was the farthest thing from a punishment that he could possibly dream up, so this was the next best thing. He hated having to do it to Dean on Christmas night, but there was no choice now. The boy needed to settle down and re-center himself.

John suspected that Sunday was going to be a colossal headache on many fronts.

/

“Gabe, it’s Castiel.”

“Yes. _I know_. Caller ID. Remember?”

“It’s nine o’clock.”

“I know that, too. _Clock._ Remember?"

Castiel grunted. "I’m not looking forward to this conversation but it has to be done. But first we have to address one thing. This man is not verified, and we should do that first.

"Agreed. The problem is, he wouldn’t give me his code.”

Castiel paused. “Why not? That’s incredibly suspicious.”

“Not really. He’s never met me and doesn’t trust me. Said he would only give it to you directly. You’re going to have to talk to him, Cas. There’s no avoiding it.”

“Didn’t you tell him we won’t look into his claims until he’s verified?”

Gabe sighed. “Actually, he says you promised to look them immediately before he would even tell you the thing about John. And he’s holding you to it. Did you really say that?”

Cas’ mind flashed back to his very first conversation with the agent, at John’s house during the Christmas party. _Shit._ He definitely had said that. His heart was pounding suddenly.

“What else did he tell you, Gabe? Start from the very beginning. Don’t leave anything out, just tell me exactly. Every word.”

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and took another drink of wine. This was turning out to be quite the nightmare of a day.

“Alright. It wasn’t much, but brace yourself...”

 

\----

Dean was pretending to be asleep, back to the door, when his dad showed up for “the talk.”

John didn’t buy it. “Sit up, Dean.”

Dean ignored him, so John sat next to him on the bed and gently pulled him upright. He wasn’t ready to fight right now, or ever. He wanted to forget this was happening and go to bed. But it had been a long time since Dean needed _a talk,_ and he was really pushing John’s buttons lately.

“Look,” he said, running his hand through his son’s perfectly cut hair. “I know it’s been a rough day. I just want to say Merry Christmas to you one more time, and see if we can end tonight on a good note. I’ll let you go back to your bedroom if you just talk to me for five minutes. _Talk._ Not argue. Okay? Look at me, Dean.”

Dean didn’t look, but at least he responded at all. “Doesn’t matter where I am, I’m not going to be able to sleep knowing what’s going to happen in the morning.”

John swallowed hard; he had already been harboring a ton of guilt about that same pending event. But it had to be done; Dean had put himself in a terrible and risky position by driving the Impala almost 20 miles without a license. Not to mention risking the incredible media circus that would have ensued afterwards by the arrest of a party leader’s son.

He needed to tread carefully, so he said gently, “Losing sleep over it isn’t going to help matters.”

“Do it at midnight, then, so it's technically not on Christmas day. That’s only three hours away, I should survive until then.”

John sighed to himself. “No. But...Dean, look at me. I mean it.”

When Dean looked up, finally - eyes wet with unshed tears - John lost his anger immediately, exactly as he expected. The boy was a master at disarming his father, and they both knew it.

“On Monday, I promise we will go to the DMV and you can test for your provisional license. If you pass, that means you can drive alone, but with no passengers. Not even Sammy.”

Dean looked away, starting to sniff. “I don’t think they’ll be able to get me in so soon.”

John smiled. “Well, let’s just say I have a little bit of influence there. We’ll get you an appointment. Whether or not you pass is completely in your hands, though. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll go driving around for a bit after church, ok? As long as it takes until you feel ready to kill it on Monday.”

“Dad…” Dean began, a bit miserably, so low that John almost didn’t hear him.

“Keep talking, Dean. We’re not at five minutes yet.”

“You’re not going to like what I want to say, though.”

John smiled encouragingly. “Well, you haven’t liked anything I’ve said so far. Seems only fair you should be allowed to return the favor. I'll even let you cuss, if you feel like it. But no name-calling.”

Dean shrugged. “Fine. I think...it was really shitty what you did today. You broke your promise to Sam. And to me, too, but I didn’t care as much as he did. You should have heard him crying, dad. I just...I did what I had to do. I’m not trying to get out of anything for driving the car alone, but I want to let you know that nothing is ever going to make me sorry for being mad at you for being a crappy father.”

“Dean-”

Dean’s volume and temper escalated. “We woke up to an empty house. By ourselves. On _Christmas morning_. You could have left us a note to tell us there was an emergency so that Sam didn’t freak out. This was the worst Christmas ever and I just wanted it to be over from the moment it started. Maybe you could buy Sam’s forgiveness with expensive presents, but you’ll never buy mine. Not for this, or for anything else.”

 _Jesus,_ thought John with a bit of wry amusement. _Be careful what you ask for._

The tears were falling profusely now, but Dean did not sniffle or wipe them away. They just trickled down as silent witnesses to the young boy’s grief. John didn’t respond right away; he needed time to collect his wits again. He had no idea of the depth of Dean’s resentment for him until now...and it stung. Hard.

In a gentle but firm voice he responded, “Alright, I think I get the picture. And I’m going to make a deal with you. Are you calm enough to talk to me reasonably right now?”

“I don’t know,” Dean sniffed.

“Okay. Well, this is what I’m going to propose. I promise you I will always, _always,_ let you know when I’m leaving and when I’ll be back, and I’ll let you know if I’m running late. My purpose for keeping you in the dark in the past has been to protect you. Obviously, that backfired today. I’m also going to give you Castiel’s office number, and Gabriel’s two numbers, so that you can reach them in an emergency. I’ll make sure to reinforce that they must pick up if you call, so you have to be careful not to use it unless there is a dire emergency and you can’t reach me. Okay?”

Dean nodded silently, still unhappy. “In exchange for what?”

“Never repeating what happened this morning. You know that Castiel had a gun pointed at you because we thought you were a burglar?”

“Yes.” Dean shuddered at the memory.

“Dean, I’m only going to say this once - and I mean it. That’s the second time you’ve shown up at the office without my permission. There will not be a third. You’re not to come within a mile of it ever again, unless I take you there myself. If you do, I’m sending you and Sam to boarding school again to keep you safe. This is not negotiable. Do we understand each other?”

Dean nodded as he wiped his eyes, and they solemnly shook hands to seal the deal. He wasn’t upset by the thought of boarding school, considering he’d actually liked it. They had spent three months there while John was busy traveling for his re-election campaign last year. Dean had made friends and been popular. He'd even thought of asking to be sent back...until he remembered that Sam still might never recover from the trauma of being bullied by his own roommates.

“Okay, that part’s settled, then,” said John with finality as he stood up abruptly. “Now for the rest of it. The driving infraction. Since we’ve talked, and I know how wound up you are about waiting, this crappy father is willing to honor your request to get it over with now if you still want to. You need to sleep tonight, big day tomorrow. But it's up to you.”

Dean hesitated, then carefully slid down onto his knees and bent over the bed. John took off his belt with trembling hands.

He _really_ didn’t want to do this.

Especially because he knew Dean was exactly right.


	11. Screenager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place immediately after the previous chapter, and contains a little bit of levity since this story has been so heavy thus far. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT, thank you! <3

**December 26, 1994 - Los Angeles**

John had a hell of a time waking Dean up on Sunday for church. Out of the three of them, only Sam was eager to go, as usual. He shuffled impatiently from foot to foot at the door of Dean’s room while their father poked and prodded at the grumpy teenager.

“ _Dean_. UP. Now. Or else we’re going to cancel that driving lesson I promised you, and no appointment tomorrow.”

“Don’t care,” Dean mumbled. “Go without me.”

Sam braced himself, grinning with expectation. He knew exactly what was going to happen next. Hell, everyone did. Even Dean.

“Ow! Dad, stop,” Dean cried as John pulled him bodily out of bed and dumped him onto the floor, all the while unwrapping him from the blanket which was quickly tossed aside. There was no anger or manhandling in the action, just the usual impatient purposefulness. The spectacle was practically a weekly ritual at this point.

John was perfectly calm, although much shorter on temper than usual. “If you’re not ready and waiting at the door in twenty minutes, my belt is coming back off when we return. Your choice, buddy.”

_Belt?_

_Back off?_

Sam ghosted out the doorway and quietly ran down the stairs, all trace of amusement gone. He waited in the kitchen, rigid as a statue, shaking a little while his brother and father made themselves presentable. Despite his lack of sympathy for Dean’s inability to get out of bed without being harassed into it, he really hated it when his brother pushed dad far enough to actually be punished. And it was taking less and less these days for that to happen.

\---

John and Dean Winchester were far more different than alike, but they did share a strong opinion that church was a colossal waste of time. Keeping up the appearance of being a religious family was necessary to his position as leader of the Insurrectionists, however, the party having more deeply spiritual constituents and leaders than the Opportunists. Castiel and Gabriel were well-known for being highly devout and vocal about their beliefs, and a couple of years ago they had an enormous fight with John at the office because the party was getting bad press about having leaders who couldn’t agree on simple religious matters. It wasn’t true, of course, but appearances were everything. So after that fight, John gave in and went to church.

The press, of course, quickly dropped the story and let them be...as long as he went every Sunday, that is. And he knew they were waiting for him to slip up, watching from their tinted cars across the street. Even being late for services would have caused incredible drama, which was why he was so hard on Dean every Sunday morning even though he desperately wanted to sleep in, too. 7am services were brutal, even more so on an empty stomach. But that was what their “faith” demanded.

John hated the press and church in equal measure.

\--------

As usual, when they entered the church John turned and waved pointedly at the press cars like he was grand marshal of a parade, plastering a disgustingly wide smile on his face. Watching from inside, Castiel sighed and cringed.

“Must you do that every time, John?” he muttered in annoyance as he and his boss took their usual pew in the back row.

John smiled, but did not look at Castiel. “Yep. Just want to make sure they know I’m here. That it’s really me, and not some doppelganger. Wouldn’t want to cause another media circus, now would I?”

“They know it’s you. You’re just mocking them at this point,” Castiel grumbled.

“Not sorry, Cas. Get used to it.”

John sighed and leaned back against the wall (the very existence of it being why he preferred the back row, although he insisted it was for security purposes). He wanted to close his eyes so badly and take a nap, but Castiel would rightly kill him for that. He chuckled to himself at the thought, then picked up on some kind of general disturbance in the crowd. _Oh god._ His sons were seating themselves up in the side balcony, shoving each other for space and bickering loudly. Everyone below was staring at them, then back at John, then up again at the boys. The service was moments away from starting, so John couldn’t exactly get up to go talk to them.

He kept his cool and turned to speak directly into Cas’s ear. “Ask a guard to calm the boys down, please.” _Before I kill them_ , he added to himself as he looked around the congregation with a slightly humorous apologetic expression.

“Already done,” Castiel whispered back, having noticed the situation long before John did and quietly summoning help from the guards with the radio microphone inside his suit lapel. Benny slipped into the scene to whisper something to the boys, who stilled immediately and dared not look anywhere but at the altar. John was immensely satisfied by that, returned Benny’s eye contact with a smile and nod, and turned his mind to other things. By the time the sermon started it was already forgotten in favor of worrying some more about the telecommunications problem at the office.

The boys sat rigid in their pews, determined not to make another sound. Like his father, Dean also immediately tuned out of the sermon and began thinking about other things, like last year when he and Sam slipped away from their guards and hailed a cab bound for Disneyland. The cab driver had recognized them, however, and quickly turned around and delivered them to the bewildered receptionist at Insurrectionist HQ. Dad was out of town, so Gabriel took them home after immediately firing the driver and guards who had been in charge of watching them. He then hired the cabbie to replace the driver, so the man was now enjoying a lucrative salary and had quickly become a favorite amongst the women on the household staff.

Suffice to say, Dean and Sam learned an unforgettable lesson during the whole affair, both emotionally and physically, and now they obeyed the new guards better than they obeyed their father...a fact which had thoroughly annoyed John until he realized he could use it to his advantage, and then it amused him. Benny in particular had absolutely no qualms about stepping in to prevent an escalation, so John was glad he had been closest.

John himself also obeyed his own assigned guards down to the letter; after all, they were there to ensure his safety at the cost of their own lives. There was no one who respected the black-suited men more than John Winchester, and they respected him in return and took good care of him and his sons.

The sermon dragged on. And on. And on. Castiel glanced at the suddenly still man next to him, saw what he was doing between his legs, and resisted the urge to curse. He leaned over to his boss.

“Seriously? Put the BlackBerry away.”

“Shhhhhh. I’m praying,” hissed John as he kept his head down and continued to scroll through his emails.

 _“John._ Stop _.”_

After waiting in vain for a few long moments, Castiel reached over and snatched the phone away, dropping it into his opposite pocket and then folding his hands again in his lap. John looked at him aghast, with a dangerous expression he very rarely wore.

“Give it back.”

Castiel looked straight ahead and didn’t move. "No."

“Give. It. Back.”

“ _No_. Pay attention to the sermon, John.”

John straightened up and looked ahead, feeling like a chastised little child. After pouting for a few moments, he glanced aside to the balcony and caught Dean and Sam watching him, laughing behind their hands, having clearly seen what Castiel had just done. _Shit. So much for setting a good example._

He gave them a stern warning glance, placing a finger to his lips in a “shushing” gesture.

Then he couldn't help but laugh, too.

Castiel rolled his eyes and sunk deeper back into the pew.


	12. Conscience

* * *

John pulled Castiel aside after the sermon, moving him gently into their usual after-church chatting place in the corner of the lobby. It was private there, and Benny stood a discreet distance away to ensure their safety.

“John,” Castiel began as he handed over his boss’s phone. “I...I’m so sorry. I hope you’re not angry with me.”

“Not at all. You were right.” He dropped the phone into his pocket, struggling not to laugh again. “No harm done. Speaking of phones, are you going to call Kevin about the issues you were having yesterday morning? I want a full report of exactly what went wrong and why your phone was not taking calls for several hours. We know it’s not a problem with the emergency line, since Dean and-”

John stopped in surprise as Rufus suddenly approached him. It was highly unusual for any of the guards to interrupt a conversation, especially the aloof and distant Rufus. But he had also drilled into all of his staff that they are never to apologize for doing their job, so the man got straight to the point.

“Sir, the boys were fighting again. I’ve stopped it, but a lot of people saw it. We need to take them to the car.”

John sighed. “For fuck’s sake. Take Sam, but send Dean to me.”

“ _John_!” gasped Castiel as Rufus walked away.

“Sorry, Cas. Still inside a church, I know.”

Castiel shook his head. “We shouldn’t be speaking in here about party business. Especially not this topic. Is there a good time we can talk today? I have something we need to discuss.”

John nodded. “Your car outside?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go there and talk, then.”

“Wait, what about Dean?”

“Oh...yeah.” John turned around and watched as his son walked up to him with a “who, me?” expression. John wasn’t buying it, and he gestured for him to walk with him about ten feet away from Cas.

“Can I trust you to sit in the car with your brother for ten minutes without killing him, or am I going to have to take you into the restroom for a chat?” he asked calmly, with a neutral expression. People were watching, after all. They were _always_ watching.

Dean swallowed hard. A _chat_ was never actually a chat in this context.

“Sam keeps making fun of me, dad. I have a right to defend myself.”

“Making fun of you? For what?”

Dean looked at the floor. “For...forget it. I’d rather _have a chat_ than explain it. I’ll meet you in the restroom.”

John was bewildered and hurt at his son’s attitude. “ _Stop_ , Dean,” he said as he stepped in front of him to block the path. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked harshly. Dean then looked ready to burst into tears, so John put his hands on his son’s shoulders and softened his tone. “Hey. Forget it, we’ll talk later. Just relax. Let’s go to breakfast. Come on.”

He put his arm around Dean and walked back to Castiel. “I’ll have to call you later, Cas. Dean isn’t feeling well.”

With Benny and Castiel leading the way, John guided his son down to his waiting car. This time, he didn’t wave because he forgot the press was even there.

John leaned his head into the car. “Hey, Sam. You’re going to ride with the guards this morning while I talk to Dean alone. Come on out.”

Sam climbed out, smirking at his miserable brother. John saw it and gave him a warning glance, but he still couldn’t decipher what was going on between them. He was determined to find out.

\---------

 

It was an hour-long drive to where the Winchester family had their weekly Sunday brunch with the entire household before the work week started up again. The hotel was located in a poorer section of the city, where most of the servants spent their Saturdays. Every Sunday at 10am John rented out a ballroom at the Hilton and had a nice banquet brunch served for the household staff, which was about twenty people, and for their immediate families. It was a rather large affair. A motorcoach was waiting to take the servants back to the house afterwards, but there was no urgent rush to leave since they didn’t need to arrive until 3pm to start preparing for dinner.

On Friday nights at 9pm, the same motorcoach arrived at the house and took them into a parking lot in the city where they could be picked up by their families. It was an extremely thoughtful and expensive arrangement, and no one else with such a large household ever did the same for their servants. John prided himself on obtaining respect and loyalty by serving up plenty of the same in return. On these days they celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, and promotions for the upcoming week, and John always attended even if it meant his travel plans had to be changed. Everyone in the Winchester household loved John and the boys.

The downside was that every Sunday, _everybody_ knew where John Winchester and his sons were going to be. That’s why their little towncar was followed by a van full of security guards - and this time - Sam, too - even though no one else from the Insurrectionists party was ever invited.

John expected Dean to resent him for forcing him to ride with him alone and talk about his feelings, but he was pleasantly surprised when the boy scooted up next to him and all but _cuddled_ with him. Cuddled. _Dean_. Cuddling. Something was really wrong.

As he put his arm around his son, John asked the driver to close the partition window for privacy. Then he handed Dean a bottle of his favorite iced tea and lemonade drink. Dean didn’t take it, so John set it down. His stomach began growling, and Dean chuckled.

“Oh you think that’s funny, huh?” John said with a smirk.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“I know what else you thought was funny today.”

Dean chuckled again, but just barely. “Yeah. Uncle Cas taking your phone away. I wish you could have seen your face, dad. It was hilarious.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“And his face, too. He was so pissed at you.”

“Ha. What else is new.”

_Silence._

“Does Uncle Cas get mad at you a lot, dad?” Dean sounded like he was falling asleep.

“Yes. Usually when he thinks I’m acting childish. You know he hates that we don’t take church seriously. And sometimes we fight about party policy, but that’s only because we care passionately about what we believe in. And we don’t always agree on everything, and sometimes we don’t talk for a while and act like brats. Just like you and your brother.”

_Silence._

“So now that I’ve told you what’s going on between me and Cas,” John said, drawing his son closer to him and running a hand through his hair, “I want you to tell me what’s going on between you and Sam, so we can fix it.”

_Silence._

“Dean?”

_Silence._

“Can you promise me you won’t be mad at me for what I’m about to tell you?”

 _Oh, lovely. What now?_ “No.”

Dean grumbled, “Never mind, then.”

“Talk to me, Dean,” said John, a little sterner. “I guarantee you I will be mad if you don’t let me in on what’s going on between you too.”

Dean sighed. “You’re going to find out from Rufus, anyway. I hit him because he was making fun of me for not being able to sit still in church. Because my butt hurt, because of what _he did_ yesterday morning. I should have never gone to the office to get you. He’s stupid and was just being a big baby, and I don’t care about him anymore. He can cry for days for all I care!”

John was stunned by Dean’s hostility, both in words and action. “You _hit_ him? In the church, you mean, just now?”

“Yeah. Well it was more of a shove, I guess. Kind of.”

“What _exactly_ did you do?” John asked calmly, although his heart was pounding out of his chest.

_Silence._

“Dean. Tell me.”

“I...I shoved him. He fell down but he wasn’t hurt. I also kind of slapped the back of his head. Rufus saw the whole thing, he can tell you why I did it.”

John was incensed. “I don’t care why, Dean. You’re in serious trouble. You should never, _ever_ , hit your brother. Period. I’ve made this very clear to both of you boys throughout your entire lives. And doing it in public makes it ten times worse.”

“But dad-”

“Be quiet. I don’t want to hear anymore. Sit up and move to that bench.”

Dean peeled himself off his dad and moved to the lengthwise bench of limousine, where he laid down again. “Dad-”

“Quiet. And sit up straight.”

“My butt hurts.”

“And it’s going to hurt a lot more when we get home. Plant it straight down on that seat or else I’ll plant it for you.”

Dean sat up, but he wasn’t happy about it. John didn’t care. He pulled out his BlackBerry and called Castiel.

\--------------

 

“Yes?”

“It’s John. Sorry we got interrupted. You talk with Kevin yet?”

“Just hung up with him, actually. He’s going to look into it. Do you have an hour or so to talk later today? I need to bring something to your attention that could potentially blow up into something much bigger, but I don’t want to get into it now while you’re on the way to brunch. We may need more than an hour, and it’s best if we do it in person.”

“It can’t wait until tomorrow?”

Castiel paused. “Unfortunately not. The sooner, the better. And we should meet at the office.”

John eyed Dean, his heart hurting from the fact that his boys had gotten physical with each other. “The office should be fine. I was going to take my son for a driving lesson, but that’s just been canceled.”

“That reminds me, I don’t know if you had a chance to talk to Rufus, but nearly everyone saw that scuffle between your boys.”

“I’m sure they did.”

“You should call him and get the whole story from him before you take action-”

John interrupted him rudely. “Cas, this is not your jurisdiction. End of story. I’ll call you when I leave the hotel so we can figure out a time to meet today. About _party business_. Only.”

He hung up, feeling furious at Castiel now, too. Was everyone out to ruin his day, or what?

Twenty very long and silent minutes later, John’s phone rang. It was Sam.

“What’s up?” John asked quietly, not wanting Dean to know it was Sam for fear of a temper tantrum. The boy suspected nothing and barely glanced at him with his red eyes that were still wet but no longer spouting tears.

“Is Dean okay, dad?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

There was a long pause. “Because I feel really bad about what I did, and he was right to be mad. I just feel really bad and I want to talk to him.”

John’s heart dropped. “What exactly did you do?” he asked in a business-like tone.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Nope. Maybe it’s best if I hear it from you.”

An even longer pause. Dean’s eyes were closed now, but his face was white and he was clenching his fists harder than before.

“I knew you took a belt to him and I was making fun of him for not being able to sit still during the sermon. Because it hurt. As we were leaving the church I picked up a bible and….” there was a choking noise and a cry and at least a minute of nothing else.

Then another voice on the phone. Rufus. “You want me to finish the story for him, Mr. Winchester? He’s lost it again.”

“Yes, please go ahead,” said John tightly, gritting his teeth with keen distaste. The last thing he wanted was his guards involved in the family’s personal business.

“As we were exiting he picked up the bible and with both hands took a huge swing at Dean’s rear. Hit him pretty hard. Dean turned around and pushed him away, and Sam fell. Lost his balance, I think, it wasn’t a very hard shove.”

 _Jesus Christ._ “And then what?”

“Dean smacked Sam in the back of the head, not hard, told him to stop. Then Sam picked up the bible again and went after Dean as he started down the stairs, and nearly hit him with it again but I managed to grab him back by the collar. I’m sorry to tell you almost everyone saw and heard it. There was some commentary afterwards in the lobby, which is why I interrupted your conversation with Mr. Novak.”

Now John felt like crying, out of frustration and anger. “I see. Objectively, who would you consider to be at fault in this situation?”

“Sam, no question. It was unprovoked, and Dean was trying to get away rather than fight.”

John took a deep breath. “Okay. Thanks. We’ll see you at the hotel.”

He disconnected the call, then stared at Dean placidly until he opened his eyes and turned to look. His heart fell when Dean shied away from him, moving further up the bench.

“Come here, Dean.” He patted the bench gently. “That was Sam and Rufus. I know what Sam did, and you’re off the hook. You can lay down.” He scooted over the far left to give Dean room to stretch out, but Dean didn’t move. He looked like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.

“I’m okay here,” he whispered.

John waited, but Dean stayed put. So he got up and clambered over the other bench next to Dean and wrapped his arms gently around his son and kissed his forehead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain. That was wrong. Next time, I will. I always will from now on. I promise. Okay?”

Dean sniffled, then nodded. He was a lot more upset than John realized, and it was going to take a while for him to recover. John was infinitely glad he chose not to spank him in the limo again a little while ago.

A few minutes later, when Dean was quiet again, John let him lay down and put his head in his lap. Then he ran his hand through his hair slowly, gently.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, dad?”

John was a little choked up suddenly. “Yesterday, when you called me a crappy father…”

Dean started to sit up. “I didn’t mean it, I’m so sorry!”

John pressed him back down. “Listen. Even if you didn’t, you’re weren’t entirely wrong. I’ve been thinking, you know? It killed me that you said that, but I needed to know you felt that way. I heard you, loud and clear. And I’m going to be a better father and spend a lot more time with you guys. You have my word.”

Dean said nothing. He was trembling again, and his eyes were closed.

“I can’t take back anything I’ve done or haven’t done,” John continued. “So all that resentment you have towards me is just going to linger unless you let it go on your own free will, when you’re ready. I hope it’s sooner than later, but I wouldn’t blame you if it’s never. God forbid.”

“What are you going to do to Sammy?” Dean asked quietly.

“First I’m going to paddle the daylights out of him, and then I’m going to have this same talk with him. He won’t be very receptive to it, of course, but that’s Sam. We’ll have to see how it goes. Take it day by day.”

Dean murmured, “You should talk to him first. And _then_ paddle him. He learns better that way. Opposite of me.”

John nodded, impressed with Dean’s sudden wisdom. Why hadn’t he himself ever picked up on that distinction before? “You’re exactly right. I’ll do that. Speaking of which, how’s your rear?”

“Hurts.”

“I'm sorry. You didn't deserve what Sam did.”

Dean asked hopefully, “Does this mean my driving lesson is back on again?”

John laughed. “Yeah, I suppose so. Remind me to have a few drinks beforehand.”

Dean didn’t laugh, but he visibly relaxed. After a moment John took his hand and squeezed it.

Dean squeezed back and didn’t let go.

They were silent the rest of the way to the hotel.

\---------


	13. Confession

John was always the last out of the limo when the little caravan arrived at the Hilton, per his bodyguard’s wishes. The hotel was kind enough to always offer a private parking area covered by a tent so that the press couldn’t hound his every step into the hotel. That’s part of the reason John was fine with giving them so much money week after week.

“Garth,” John called out to his driver, who had exited on the other side of the car and was now scurrying around to meet his boss.

“Sir?”

“I need you to take Sam home and stay there. Dean and I will ride back with the guards. But first go inside the ballroom and eat something; he’ll wait for you here.”

Garth nodded and disappeared, and John grabbed Sam’s arm and guided him over to the limo.

“Get in,” ordered John quietly. The guards that were all standing around waiting for him to enter the hotel looked puzzled, as did Dean, but John ignored them all and climbed into the car after Sam and shut the door behind him.

“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in, do you?” John asked calmly.

Sam was trembling, just like Dean had been an hour ago. “I think I know. You’re sending me home so I can wait in the spare room for you, and then…then you’re gonna….”

John nodded. “You can go to the kitchen for a bottle of water first, _only,_ and then straight to the spare room. Except for calls of nature you will stay in there until I return home. And then yes, I’m _gonna_. Big time.”

He got out of the car and told Benny to stay with it until Garth returned. Then he gestured everybody else inside the hotel with him, and everyone put on their happy faces for the next couple of hours.

\--------

The ride home in the van was completely silent because John had received a phone call during breakfast that put him in a scary, snappy mood. Dean could barely dare to blink after having received a solid smack on the butt for taking too long to leave the ballroom - given right in front of all the guards and some of the hotel staff, no less. Dean was so humiliated and angry that Benny felt obliged to take him aside to calm him down, and then John went after Benny for that, too. When the subdued contingent finally piled into the van, Dean jumped in first and scrambled to the very back to keep at a safe distance from his irate father.

Dean had no idea what was upsetting his dad so much. It was extremely rare for him to be so bossy with his guards, and until now he had never once disciplined his kids in public. They were all rather bewildered by the whole affair, but it became clearer once they pulled up to the house and spotted Castiel’s truck in the driveway.

John was the first out of the van.

“I told you I would meet you at the office!” he snapped so loudly that everyone cringed. 

Castiel responded calmly, “I told you this can’t wait. We can drive there together if you want, but-”

“No. My study. Go in. I’ll be right there. Dean!”

“Yes, dad?” answered Dean in a small voice, and John spun around to see his son standing right behind him.

“Go straight to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out. Understand?”

Dean felt like crying again. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“When I tell you to move, you move. Or do you need another reminder?” He raised his hand.

“No!” Dean ran off, and John turned to his four-person security contingent, who were standing in a square around him, looking extremely concerned.

“Everything alright, boss?” ventured Benny in a neutral tone.

“Not even close, but it’s not a security matter. Sorry for being an ass. You can return to quarters and relax. I’ll call down when I’m ready to go back out.”

John said nothing more and turned around to go in the house. He held the door open so the guards could go down the stairs to their rooms, then headed straight for the spare room in order to let Sam know he would be a little while longer. He was shocked to find Dean sitting on the bed next to his brother; the boy jumped up immediately and began apologizing.

John was furious. “I said go _straight_ to your room. Was I unclear in any way whatsoever, Dean?”

“Sam’s hungry, dad. We’ve been gone for-”

“ _Out._ Now! _”_

John forgot all about what he was going to tell Sam and followed Dean out, slamming the door behind them. Then he made a beeline for his study, where his chief strategist was standing there looking like a man who just ran over his best friend’s dog.

“ _Castiel,_ ” he growled as he strode in and set his briefcase hard down on the table. “There better be a really good fucking explanation for the information we just received from Kevin. Start talking.”

“Maybe you should calm down first,” tried Cas, but John wasn’t having it.

“Did you, or did you not, _deliberately_ turn off your phone while we were waiting for the agent’s call to come through on the emergency line?”

“John, I know you’re upset, but please listen to me first. It’s complicated.”

“I only want a yes or no answer. _Now_.”

Castiel took a deep breath to steady himself. ”Yes.”

John shook his head in disbelief. “Alright. You’re fired, then. Whatever you choose to tell me at this point is on your own time.”

“I’m certainly not going to talk to you while you’re this upset,” Castiel finally declared, firmly but somewhat breathlessly.

“Did Gabriel know about this?” John demanded angrily.

“Yes...he figured it out when the alleged agent called him directly after he couldn’t reach me.”

John did not expect that answer at all, and it threw him for a loop. His heart fell even further.

“Wonderful. So you were both conspiring against me. On Christmas. Thanks a lot.”

Castiel flipped open his notebook. “No, actually. We were both doing our jobs. Our charter has a clause in it which clearly states that all-”

“I have that fucking charter memorized, Cas. Don’t quote my own words to me.”

“Sorry,” replied Castiel, truly chagrined. He flipped the notebook shut. “When you are calm, I will explain everything. Do you want me to leave until then?”

“Just a minute,” said John as he walked over to the intercom on the wall and hit a switch.

“Sam?”

There was a short pause, then Sam’s small, tremulous voice. “Yes, dad?”

“You can come out now. Make yourself lunch, then go outside with Dean and play with the dogs. I’m gonna be with Cas for a while, then your brother and I are going for a drive. After that, you and I will talk.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Sam shakily. “I’m sorry, dad.”

“I know. Try to relax, buddy,” John said softly. “We’ll get through this. See you in a bit.”

“Okay.” Sam’s relief was obvious, and John smiled a little. To be eleven years old again…

”Oh, Sam? Can you bring me a couple bottles of water to the study first?”

“Sure, dad. Be right there.”

While waiting, John took out his copy of the charter from his desk and ran his fingers over it without seeing any of the words. They had all written it together, ten years ago. When everything seemed exciting and right and purposeful and pure…but now, not so much. How fast life moved sometimes. Yesterday had been normal. Today, Castiel had to be dealt with, and then Gabriel. It was all over.

Sam delivered the water, and then it was time.

“You better start from the beginning. This time, don’t leave anything out. No opinions, just facts. I am calm and will listen in silence until you finish.” He sat down and looked up at his friend - former friend? - expectantly.

Castiel took a deep breath. “Very well. On Christmas eve, just after I arrived at your house for the party, I received a call on the emergency line…”

 --------

“...and then last night at 9pm, Gabriel called me to tell me everything the agent had told him, which was exactly what he told me. But the man still refused to give his code number. At that point we made the decision that the alleged agent was untrustworthy and you needed to be informed of the situation immediately, in case there was a plot against you.”

“Except it wasn’t immediately.”

“No,” explained Castiel patiently. “We hung up at midnight last night. Remember this morning I told you we needed to get together in person today? Had I known Kevin would beat me to the punch with the findings about my phone, I never would have waited. Now it looks like I’m covering my tracks, but I’m not.”

John was calming down, but Castiel was still fired. So very, very fired.

“And how exactly do you expect me to believe you?”

Castiel pulled out his phone. “I took measures to ensure you knew Gabriel and I were aligned and aware of the seriousness of our actions. Here is an email from me to Gabe at one o’clock this morning with the draft of the memo I wrote you for this very meeting. Here’s the final version, sent at 2am. A copy of which is right here in my hand, by the way, signed by both of us and time-stamped at 6:24 this morning. The original is on your desk right now. You can check our badges. We left the office at 6:50am and have not been back again today. I also FedEx’d a copy to your home after leaving the church, which was dropped off at 8:37am. Here’s the tracking number.”

John took all the papers, but said nothing.

“Furthermore,” added Castiel, “once the decision was made to inform you of our actions, we both wrote our resignations in order to save time. Also time-stamped from this morning and left on your desk.”

John still said nothing.

Castiel continued patiently, “What this all means, John, is that Gabriel and I took all these actions hours before we even _asked_ Kevin to start an investigation. So if you still think I’m backtracking now, there’s nothing else I can do to convince you otherwise.”

“Very thorough,” murmured John. He didn’t want to admit he was impressed, but he was. “I just have one question. Did you know that Kevin would be able to tell you turned your phone off? Because one could say you knew you were screwed and are trying to score points by turning yourself in before he had the chance.”

”Absolutely not. I was stunned to learn this morning that he was able to do that. Believe me, if I had known _that_ , I would’ve never done it in the first place.”

John nodded. “Okay. I believe you. Anything else to add?”

Castiel took another deep breath. “I’m not trying to get out of being fired, John. I accept responsibility for my actions. I should have never turned off my phone, and found another way to speak to the agent. But before I go, I need to say one thing. Your refusal to give me the list of people you met with last Tuesday was the impetus for my decision to keep the details of the call from you. You should have given me the list so I could validate who you’re meeting with. That’s my job. Or _was,_ rather. I would like to know why you wouldn’t cooperate with me on that.”

John was annoyed again. “Because I didn’t want to deal with it on Christmas eve. I was tired. I was drunk. I was busy hosting a huge party in my house. The only other person who had access to those names was my secretary, and she was here partying and drunk, too. It had to wait. End of story. Any further questions? Maybe you also want to know what my agent was doing in Greeley when she was killed? Ask Gabriel, it was his idea. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that, huh?”

Castiel said nothing. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t increase John’s defensiveness and make things worse?

John suddenly made up his mind and spoke with a firmness and finality that Castiel always appreciated, even if others didn’t.

“I don’t want to see you again for 30 days. That’s how long I’m suspending you. Two weeks for the phone stunt and another two for speaking with an unverified asset. Gabriel will also get two weeks for the latter. All unpaid, of course. I’ll call him in a moment to tell him.”

Castiel stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not accepting our resignations?”

“Oh, I want to, believe me. But you know I can’t. It would destabilize the party and throw our constituents into a frenzy. We’re going to have to get through this together and learn how to trust each other again. If possible. I’m not sure how. Time will tell. Give me your BlackBerry and your office badge. You’ll get them back on January 25.“ 

Castiel handed the objects over.

“I’m so sorry, John-“

“ _Don’t_. Just leave. You’re not to have contact with anyone at our office except me and Gabriel, and try to keep that to the bare minimum while I stave off the press for the next month. Go.”

Castiel left the house without another word and drove straight to Gabriel’s house, his bodyguard faithfully tailing him at a discreet distance. 


	14. Truth and Consquences

Gabriel had received the grim news of his fate from John directly by the time Castiel’s truck pulled up the drive, followed by the little dark blue BMW that always accompanied him. He was upset, yet grateful not to have been fired, but was more than a little uneasy about all the unanswered questions and implications that had spent two days raining down on his head in a cycle of nothingness and frustration.

 It was likely the agent was a plant...but how did he get the emergency number?

  * __So it’s one of our own agents, since all the others are accounted for.__



 What if the agent is working with the Opportunists in a plot against John?

  * __What would be the purpose? John is free of scandal and on cordial terms with Lucifer.__



 Who would want to kill a double agent on Insurrectionists territory?

  * __Maybe it was one of our own who thought she was spying. But there were no reports of that.__



 If John is innocent, why would he not turn over the names of who he met with?

  * __Remember that John has a lot going on in the background that you don’t know about.__



 We shouldn’t have speculated at all until this guy was verified.

  * __We couldn’t just leave it alone until he called again. We were obliged to investigate.__



 ...and so on. And so on. And so on.

 It was all driving him crazy.

“Sorry to show up unannounced,” Castiel said apologetically as Gabriel opened the door and and stepped onto the porch. “John took my phone and your number was in there. I don’t have it memorized. Do you have time to talk?”

“I do, but he’s actually on his way here to take my phone and badge, too. Might make things awkward.”

“Oh. Then I’ll call you on your home phone later. I need to write it down, though.”

Castiel pulled out a notebook and took down the number as Gabriel read it out, then turned around as Gabe’s eyes focused on something else over his shoulder. Castiel heard it before he saw it; the noisy Impala roaring down the street, being dutifully tailed by a comically large and shiny black Escalade that wallowed and swayed over the speed bumps like a drunken hippo. As they pulled up, Dean waved from behind the wheel. The men quickly walked down to the car where it was parking in the street due to Castiel’s truck and the BMW blocking the driveway.

“Hey Dean,” Gabriel called after the engine was shut off. “Looking good, buddy!”

“Hi guys,” he replied with a huge grin, but he stayed put. His dad had clearly told him not to get out of the car, or else he would have already been out and giving hugs to his “uncles.”

John unfolded himself out of the passenger side, then walked up to Gabriel without a single glance at Castiel. “The house looks good. I like the new color scheme.”

“Thanks. The shutters are going to be repainted a shade lighter, though. Came out a bit too dark. And did you notice the driveway?”

John looked down at the fresh black asphalt. “Yeah. Looks great. I need to do mine before I sell.” He pointed up. “You re-did the chimney, too? Man. Decorative brickwork and everything. Going all out, aren’t you.”

“Yeah. Gotta keep up with all the new money folks rushing into the neighborhood.” They both grinned. He meant John himself, of course, who had bought the largest plot of land in the neighborhood last year and was almost finished with his new house. The exterior was barely started before all the neighbors started getting catty about it making their own homes look shabby in comparison, and John thought it was hilarious that Gabe’s own wife was one of the original chief naysayers. That was before she knew it was John’s. Now everyone knew, of course, because the press had gotten a hold of the building permits.

Castiel shifted uncomfortably from where he was observing the disturbingly normal interaction, feeling a bit like he had entered the metaphorical Twilight Zone. But then he spotted Gabe’s wife and teenaged children watching from the living room windows, just barely visible behind the glare of noon sunlight. That explained it. John had seen them, too, and was being painfully careful to do nothing to alarm them. Or Dean, for that matter, who had all the windows down in the car and was also watching the scene intently. It was also extremely likely that one or more of the cars on the street had a photographer lying in wait behind the tinted windows, hoping to get a juicy shot to sell.  

To that end, Gabriel handed his badge and BlackBerry to John in two regular envelopes. “See you in two weeks then?” he said lightly, but respectfully.

“At the office, yes. But I still expect you in church on Sunday. _Every_ Sunday. Don’t skip it again.” He was highly annoyed that he had been forced to unfailingly attend per Gabe’s insistence, but Gabe didn’t always go himself. Like today. If John had to suffer, they would all suffer, period.

“Okay. Sorry. Shall I call you at 6pm, or will you call me?”

“I’ll call you.”

Castiel wanted John to say something to him, too, but John turned back and got into the car, completely ignoring him as if he wasn’t even there. Dean waved again as he pulled out and drove off, and Castiel waved back. John was watching him coldly through the side mirror.

“Wow,” Gabe said gravely, “looks like he is a lot more pissed at you than me. What happened?”

“Sentenced to 4 weeks of being a non-entity, apparently.” Castiel was wildly depressed all of a sudden, and Gabriel felt terribly sorry for him. The usual envy and friendly rivalry he felt toward the man who was best friends with John Winchester dusted away like it was never there to begin with.

“I’m sorry, Cas. Give him time. It’ll be alright.”

“Why are you two talking tonight?” asked Castiel. “Just curious.”

“I’m the PR guy, remember? He asked me to write a few paragraphs to explain to the press what happened and wants it by 6pm.”

“What are you going to say?”

“That the Insurrectionists hold all of their party’s employees to the same standards, and that we violated a longstanding communications policy. No tolerance even at the highest levels of leadership. Blah blah blah. I’m not exactly sure how to word it yet without ruining our careers. He wants it to be completely transparent, of course. Now I’ll also need to explain why you got a bigger punishment than I did. Any ideas?”

“No idea,” grumbled Castiel. “The Opportunists are going to have a field day with this no matter what we say. I’m so sorry, by the way, for getting you dragged into this. If I hadn’t...well, this is all my fault.”

“If it helps, neither John nor I blame you for my part in this. I spoke with the caller without getting his code first. That was on me.”

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t ignored his calls, he never would have gotten to you. I resigned, you know, but he wouldn’t accept it.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Yes, Cas, I know. So did I, remember? We literally sat down and wrote our letters together.” He shivered. “It’s cold out here. Let’s talk later, okay? Try not to mope. It could have been so much worse.”

“Not by much.”

Gabe looked up, waved up towards his house, and sighed. “Hey, lunch is ready, my wife just waved me in. We can put on an extra plate for you. Why don’t you come up? Been a long time since we had the pleasure of your company.”

Castiel shook his head. “Won’t be very pleasurable today, I can assure you. But thanks.”

“Nah, I think it’s exactly what you need. It’s my youngest’s birthday today, and we just got a dog. Come in and take your mind off all this. At least for an hour. Come on, Cas. They’ll be so happy to see you. And I’ll have one of my guards follow you back.”

“If you’re sure?” Cas asked hopefully. Despite his outward reluctance, he desperately wanted to go in and try to enjoy himself before the shit hit the fan with the press. There was nothing to be gained by going home alone to sit around and think about what a mess he’d made of his friendship with John.

“Yeah. Come on. Tell your guard.”

“Okay. Be right there.”

Castiel waited a minute for Gabe to go into the house, and then he walked up to the little BMW and knocked on the window. Gordon rolled it down quickly.

“Yes, boss?”

“You can go on home. Gabe’s going to have his guard follow me back.”

“I can’t, sir, it’s against the policy.”

“I know. Do it anyway. I’ll sign a variance form.”

Gordon pulled the stack of forms from beneath the seat behind him. He was the only person in the party who used them on a regular basis, because Castiel was constantly violating security and transportation protocol. The signed form completely waived the guard’s responsibility for whatever happened once it was signed. Gordon used to protest more in the past at being told to leave his boss all kinds of places alone, but now he was quietly resigned to the fact that nobody at HQ really cared that their chief strategist had very little regard for his own personal safety.

\--------------

 

John should have been paying more attention to Dean’s driving than he was, but he just couldn’t focus. Didn’t notice the rolled-through stop sign, blowing a short yellow light, and overall lack of signaling. Didn’t notice that the Escalade had to commit the same infractions just to keep up with them. He only sat back and told Dean to slow down or speed up when he needed to. His mind was elsewhere. Completely, totally dissociated from his current task of ensuring his son didn’t kill anybody from behind the wheel of the Impala for the past two hours.

He was already regretting being so hard on Castiel, and wished he could take back a few things he’d said. The man was loyal to his party to a fault, and John knew he really thought he was doing the right thing. If only he hadn’t violated two clear policies, John could have let him off easier. If he hadn’t talked to the agent. If he hadn’t turned off his phone.

And that was the big one - turning off his phone. Castiel was the emergency contact for all 50 of their agents. The _only_ emergency contact they had. It had been a highly irresponsible and indefensible action to shut that channel down, something that anyone one else would have been fired on the spot for, and probably sued into oblivion for good measure.

Hell, maybe he _should_ still fire him for that. But he didn’t know, and every five minutes his feelings changed on the matter. It was so frustrating. At this particular moment, he just wanted to strangle the man for putting him in a position to mistrust him.

As if he had been reading his mind, the cell phone rang. It was Gabriel’s home phone number.

John sighed heavily. One of the two people in the world he least wanted to talk to, calling him now in the middle of his son’s driving lesson. He should let it go to voicemail.

“Dean, pull over into this parking lot. Leave room for Benny behind us.”

Dean obeyed, and John picked up the call at the last second before it went to voicemail.

“Yes, Gabriel?” he answered tensely.

“It’s Castiel. Do you have a moment?”

_Fuck, really? We’re doing this right now?_

“What do you want, Cas?” he asked irritably, noticing Dean raising his eyebrows out of the corner of his eye. They both knew he had never spoken to Cas so rudely before. And John hated himself for it, but he couldn’t help it.

“I just realized the emergency line is still routed to my phone. Kevin needs to forward it to someone else as soon as possible, until I come back.”

You mean _if I let you_ come back _,_ John thought to himself.

“Who do you suggest?” he asked, forcing himself to be diplomatic now that Castiel had just saved John’s own ass from charges of neglecting the emergency line. _Jesus Christ, John._

“Charlie.”

“I will call Kevin right now and arrange it. Thank you for reminding me.”

He hung up before Castiel could say anything else, then dialed Kevin.

“Mr. Winchester?”

“Sorry to bother you. I need you to re-route the emergency line to Charlie right away. Like yesterday.”

There was a clicking of keyboard keys that lasted about 20 seconds.

“Kevin..?”

“One moment.”

John glanced sideways at Dean, who was watching him with an expression of alarm. This was exactly why he never took work calls around his sons.

“It’s done, sir. I take it that means you received my report this morning?”

Oh good god, he had never written Kevin back. The poor guy must still be... _shit._

“Um, yes. Are you still at the office waiting for us?”

“Yes, sir. That’s what I was told to do, in case you had more questions.”

_More than six hours ago. Jesus Christ, John. You seriously need to get your shit together._

“Kevin...fuck. I’m so sorry. Go home. I’ll add an extra vacation day to your file. Make it two, and I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow. I’m really sorry.” His face burned with embarrassment. Goddamnit. Castiel or Gabriel would have picked up on this if they hadn’t been so busy screwing up everything else.

“No problem, sir. It’s good I was still here because I couldn’t have made the change to the emergency line from home. Does Charlie know about this so she can keep her phone on? I’m seeing it’s turned off right now.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll call her at home or on her wife’s cell. Good work, Kevin.”

“Thank you, sir.”

John hung up and Dean turned to him immediately.

“Dad? What the hell is going on?”

“Just a moment, Dean,” John said as movement in the rearview mirror caught his eye. The Escalade idling behind them was now pulling out to the right and sidling up to his door, looming so large that John had to look way up at the driver.

“Everything alright, sir?” asked Benny, looking down at him worriedly. “We’re not in a great part of town right now and I'd really like to get you headed back the other way.”

“Okay. I need a minute to make an emergency call, and then let’s head straight home. I want everyone assembled in the conference room downstairs and waiting for us when we pull in.”

“Everyone? Sam, too?”

“No, sorry. I mean just the security team. And wait a sec, Dean’s going to join you for the ride back.”

John turned to Dean now and said gently, “I have to make a call that you can’t be allowed to hear. Go hop in with Benny.”

“Dad, you’re seriously freaking me out. I ran two stop signs in a row just to see if you’d notice, and you said nothing. You’re not even here right now.”

John hardened his tone. “I do _not_ have time for this, Dean. I’m in the middle of handling an emergency. Get out of the car, now.”

Dean was becoming slightly hysterical. “No. I’m not going until you tell me what’s up. I’m freaking out. What happened with Gabe and Uncle Cas? Are they okay? Are we in danger?”

Rufus appeared on the driver side to open the door, but Dean quickly jammed down the lock. 

Losing control of his temper now, John smoothly dragged Dean out of the passenger side of the car, then gently but firmly pinned him against the side of the SUV. He was furious, but kept his tone level and low.

”That’s it. You’re getting the belt again. I can do it right here over the trunk of the car, or you can get in the SUV immediately and I’ll do it at home. You choose.”

”You wouldn’t do it here,” Dean challenged. “It would be bad publicity.”

“I don’t see any cameras around here, do you? I’ll give you three seconds to decide. One. Two.”

”Home!” Dean blurted, and John immediately loosened his grip.

Dean scrambled away and fled for safety in the far back row of the giant SUV. John followed him and stood at the door, glaring at him while he buckled in. Once that was done, John slammed the door and stalked off to his car to call Charlie.

The guards said absolutely nothing, of course, and kept their eyes carefully averted away from Dean. But it was clear what they were all thinking: they sympathized with John, but they also felt really sorry for Dean, too.

 

\----------------------

John was finally calming down as he made his way from the spare room downstairs into the conference room, where all his guards were waiting to hear exactly what the hell was going on with their boss. He had to talk fast; the servants were due back from Eagle Rock at any moment. He looked around to confirm all nine guards were present, and then immediately launched into his explanation.

“I can’t give too many details, gentlemen and lady, but the short story is that my leadership team experienced a major hiccup today and we’ve lost Gabriel for two weeks, and Castiel for a month, for disciplinary reasons. So my workload just tripled, and I’ll be working 24/7 and traveling around to meetings everywhere. It’s likely the Opportunists will take every chance they get to follow me around more closely, and will likely be spying a little extra on the boys as well. Not to mention all of you, in order to monitor my movements. We all need to up our game and make things seem as normal as possible until this blows over. It should hit the news tomorrow morning. Any questions?”

Benny spoke up, as he always did. He was extremely good at his job but never failed to bring up particularly painful points of discussion. John didn’t hold it against him, though. He had never been out of line even once with his concerns.

“This is obviously going to put a lot of stress on Dean and Sam, as well. Do you expect to spend all day in the office now, and how do you want us to handle them if they start acting out while you’re not here? With all the fighting lately, it may become a problem and there might be a point where they have to be disciplined on the spot before things get too carried away.”

There was a slight uncomfortable murmur of agreement among the guards, and John groaned internally. Again, a painful point. More so than usual. But absolutely necessary.

“Yeah, thanks Benny for bringing that up.” John chuckled lightly, and the guards followed suit and relaxed a little. “The boys are...well, for those of you who haven’t already heard, they were fighting in church today in front of the entire congregation. I’m sure it's going to be gleefully reported in the papers tomorrow that John Winchester's bodyguards had step in to keep his sons from killing each other.”

He stopped in order to gauge the reaction from the guards, who looked alternately horrified and embarrassed. Just like John felt, actually.

John took a deep breath. “Look, I’m just as uncomfortable talking about this as you are to hear it. But Benny brought up a good point. With the boys being on winter break and lacking my supervision, they could seriously hurt each other without intervention. I don't want any of you saddled with the task of disciplining them, so other than me remarrying within the next 24 hours, I’m out of ideas. Anyone?”

Everyone laughed uncomfortably.

Lisa, the new female guard, answered quickly. "You could hire a nanny for them. I have some contacts who may know-"

There was a knock on the door, and John said, "Sorry Lisa, one sec," then yelled “Come in.”

It was Sam. “The staff is here, dad. Waiting for you to let them off the bus.”

“Thanks Sam,” said John kindly as he walked over and ruffled his son’s hair. “Go ahead and let them know they can come in, but to be quiet because we’re having a meeting in here.”

“You aren’t going to greet them at the door?”

“How about you do it for me this time? I think you’d be really good at that. Shake everyone’s hand and welcome them back, just like I do. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Remember to tell them to be quiet. Go on.”

Sam shut the door, and John turned back around to his guards.

“A nanny is not a bad idea, but it's going to take months to find one and vet her. I think for now, though, one of you is going to have to volunteer to stand in for me for the next four weeks, just to keep them in line until I get home. I’m sorry this is so damned awkward for all of us.”

“What if you took one of them to work each day?” asked Benny. “The other one couldn’t do much trouble if he’s home alone.”

Lisa spoke up again. “I think taking them out of the house will help them stop focusing on antagonizing each other. But we should take them to soup kitchens, animal shelters, et cetera. Places that need volunteers. Keep ‘em busy all day and do some good. It will be good PR for you to have your boys contribute to the community. Maybe even something like Habitat for Humanity, since Sam likes to build stuff.”

The guards all started talking amongst themselves while John thought about this option.  
  
“But security-wise, I don’t know if that’s going to work,” he finally responded. “Talk about making more work for you guys, which is what I was trying to avoid.”

“I don’t mind it,” was the general consensus of the guards after several more minutes of discussion.

Then, Benny again. “Just be aware you have them in public again, though. Which means, if they start fighting again, everyone will know it.”

John made up his mind. “Then they’ll do separate things. Focus on what they like to do rather than what works for both of them. Sam can do some kind of building thing, some kind of physical labor, and Dean can work with kids or the homeless.”

Lisa put it, “Or you could just ask them what they want to do. Have them research some good causes and make their own decision about it.”

John nodded thoughtfully. “I think that’s a good idea. Keep them busy all day long, separate from each other, all the way up until dinner time. Everyone ok with that? We’ll do it for a couple weeks, until they’re in school again. Then back to the old program. Thanks Lisa. Anything else? No? Okay. I better go take care of Sam, then. Poor kid’s been waiting all day for his reckoning. See you all in the morning, bright and early.”

John trudged up the stairs and stopped into the spare room, where he grabbed the paddle he had just used on Dean for disobeying him in the car (after discovering he wasn't actually wearing a belt and didn't feel like going to find one). He took it with him into his study and reluctantly hit the intercom button to summon Sam.

 


	15. The Plot Thickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit is about to go down.

**Opportunists Headquarters**

**Denver, CO**

**Monday, December 27, 1994**

“Holy. Shit. You see the paper yet, Uriel?”

Uriel paused from stirring the sugar in his tea and turned around to peer over Zacariah’s shoulder.

“Hell no, I’m still half asleep. What now? Oh…... _holy shit_.”

They looked at each other, grinned, then read the article in full, twice, not quite believing the implications of the news. “Let me borrow that paper for a minute. Thanks.”

Uriel practically bounced into his boss’s office, only to find Lucifer sitting down to study the exact same article. Damn. He could never beat him to the punch on anything.

“Close the door,” Lucifer grumbled, “and stop acting like you just won Miss America. It’s unprofessional. Sit down.”

Uriel felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him all of a sudden. Lucifer had that effect on people, but he had never gotten used to it after all these years. No one had, really. He clenched his fists and waited in silence for his boss to finish reading the article.

“So,” Lucifer said as he set the paper down. “Looks like the first seeds of mistrust have been sown. That didn’t take long. Have you been in contact with Gadreel again?”

“No, we agreed he should go radio silent for a few days. I have no idea whether or not he actually talked to Castiel, but obviously something huge has happened, and you know I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“And Gadreel never confirmed back whether this emergency line was legit or not?”

“No.”

Lucifer sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table. “I need to know if he spoke to Castiel. If the line is still active. Just a simple yes or no will do. I want to know if this” - he jabbed a finger at the newspaper - "is our work, or if they’re imploding on their own because of something else.”

“I will do my best.”

“Also, speaking of statements...we need to talk about Ruby. I know you don’t want to go there yet, but we haven’t said anything publicly about her murder. Are you ready to work on it?”

“Hell yes. I mean, yes. Already on it. First things first, we have to state that we’re looking into exactly why she was on Insurrectionists’ property at the time. That’s the first thing I want to know, too, but we have to wait for the FBI to do the security footage review.”

Lucifer said nothing, just... _tap, tap, tap._

“The first thing people are going to say is that the Insurrectionists would never be stupid enough to commit murder on their own property, no matter who the victim is. They’re going to be saying it’s random. Or, that she was a double agent and gotten taken out by one of us. And if we address that publicly, all kinds of questions are going to come up that we can’t even start to put answers to yet.”

_...tap, tap, tap._

“So Zachariah and I are meeting in a minute to put together some kind of statement, which right now is basically _we are investigating the circumstances that led to this tragedy and extend our heartfelt thoughts and prayers for Ruby’s family and friends_. As soon as she’s in the ground, though, her family is going to be coming after us for answers.”

_...tap, tap, tap._

Uriel took a deep breath, feeling dizzy from the implications of what he was about to say next.

“And you’re _really_ not going to like this, since there’s no point in me keeping my suspicions quiet at this point. But I think we have to seriously consider the possibility that she really _was_ a double agent. I mean, it’s possible when you starting thinking hard enough about it. If so...we fucked up big time, and Winchester is going to catch on pretty fast. If he hasn’t already, that is.”

_...tap, tap, tap._

Lucifer’s phone rang, and he leaned over to look at the phone display. A call from...Los Angeles?

_\--------------------------_

**Insurrectionist Headquarters, Los Angeles**

**Same day**

John Winchester stood at the espresso machine in Castiel’s office, trying and failing to figure out how to work the damned thing. He stopped trying when he heard Castiel’s assistant talking on the stairs.

“Jo!” he shouted.

 _Oh god, what did I do?_ Jo wondered in panic as she exchanged startled glances with her co-workers. She ran up the last few steps and tossed her purse down on her chair, absurdly upset that she hadn’t even put lipstick on yet. Damn it.

She hurried in and looked around the office, surprised to find her boss not present. He was usually - no, always, the first one in the office.  
  
“Oh, the espresso machine. I’ll get that for you, sir.” She hurried up to the machine and hoped she could remember how to do it. John made her terribly nervous.

“Wait, first things first. Close the door. And don’t call me sir.” John had walked away now and was staring out the windows into the ocean, just like Castiel always did when he was thinking hard. There was a newspaper in his hand.

Jo froze. She had hardly ever spoken to John, and only a few times one-on-one when he was looking for Castiel and needed her help in tracking him down. Those few times, he had always been very nice. Now...

John looked back and barked, “I said _close the door_. I need to talk to you.”

“Uh, yes, sir. Mr. Winchester, I mean...” She was shaking, already wondering if something terrible had happened to Castiel. After shutting the door, she leaned against it, back pressing hard into it as if it could shield her from anything bad coming her way.

John unfolded the paper and then turned around to lay it out on the desk.

“Have you seen this yet?”

“No, sir.”

_“John.”_

“John.” It sounded strange on her tongue. No one called him John, even when he wasn’t around. Except for Gabriel and Castiel, of course, and John’s assistant.

“Okay,” he said, his tone softening considerably. “I’m sorry for being short with you. But I have news you need to hear immediately, before anyone else, because they’re all going to come up to you for answers and gossip. And I need to make sure you are armed with a proper response.”

“Is he alright?” Jo blurted before she could stop herself, the increasing fear of hearing that Castiel had died overtaking her usual discretion.

John looked at her sideways. “Are you going to stay calm and listen to me, or-”

“Yes, sir.”

John sighed, deciding not to worry about the ‘sir’ thing for the present.

“Jo, he violated a major policy and I had to suspend him. Gabriel, too, but I’ll talk to Ellen about him separately. It’s already in the papers because I gave the government a heads-up yesterday, but we haven’t made an official statement yet. Are you following?”

Jo nodded.

“Okay. People are going to start asking you questions the moment you find out. The exact statement you are going to make no matter who asks - and I mean _no matter who_ \- is ‘I’m aware of the matter but not authorized to discuss it with anyone outside of John’s leadership leam.’ Repeat that, please.”

“ _I’m aware of the matter but not authorized to discuss it with anyone outside of John’s leadership team_. Can I say Mr. Winchester, though?”

“Yes, of course. Repeat it one more time.”

Jo did, and he had her repeat it again for good measure. She was much calmer now.

“Okay. I want you to keep doing your job as if Castiel was still here, but per the terms of our charter he is not allowed to contact anyone in the party until January 25. He will not contact you, and you’re not to contact him. For any reason, I don’t care what it is. Same goes with Gabriel, although he’ll be back on January 11. If you have any questions, ask me.”

Jo swallowed hard. “I do have a question, sir. What did Castiel do?”

She had a right to know, John knew, even as he hesitated. More so than probably anyone else who didn’t already know.

“This stays between us. He missed a few calls to the emergency line, and then spoke to an unverified asset, all of which ended up causing a shit show that we’re going to spend the few next months cleaning up. Gabriel also spoke to the same unverified caller. I really don’t know what got into either of them, but all I can say is this happened at my Christmas party, and you know what that was like."

The vast amount of alcohol and good cheer could have clouded their judgment, he meant. Castiel didn’t drink, as they both knew, but she let it be.

“Yes. I see what you mean. When are we going to make an official statement?”

“In a few hours.” John was speaking to her much more kindly now, and he regretted having been so rude to her earlier. “Look, I know how much you care about Castiel, and vice versa. Just know I had absolutely no choice but to suspend them. They're lucky they weren't fired on the spot. It sucks, but we can’t fall apart over this. Our constituents will depend on us to keep on going, business as usual.”

Jo nodded, her expression determined and calm. “Ellen is most likely here by now. You should go talk to her right away.”

John laughed; in two minutes Jo had gone from being petrified and calling him sir, to outright ordering him around. Learning fast.

“Yes ma’am,” John said with a cheeky grin as he sprang up to open the door for her.

Jo almost died from embarrassment for a few minutes. But then she went in the bathroom to put on her lipstick, and cried her heart out for Castiel.

\-----------------------

After speaking to Ellen, who didn’t take the news as hard as Jo had, John locked himself in his office and stared at all the papers Gabriel and Castiel had left on his desk for him.

The resignation letters, in particular. He should have accepted them. Anyone else would. Why didn’t he?

_Fuck._

He shoved them aside, then picked up the phone make a very difficult call.

 -----------

**Opportunist Headquarters - Denver**

“John _Winchester_?” asked Lucifer, a bit stunned.

“Yes, it’s me. Don’t act so surprised, we just talked like a week ago. I need a minute. Are you alone?”

Lucifer looked up at Uriel, who shook his head. “Actually, no. I have Uriel with me. Just the two of us. Would you like me to send him out?”

“No. You’re going to tell him what I have to say, anyway. Listen, I’m sure you’ve seen our little fiasco in the papers this morning, but that’s not what I’m calling about.”

“Okay. Then what-”

“The murder in Colorado on Christmas morning. It took place on Insurrectionists property, as you know. I want to review the surveillance footage as soon as possible, but I’m being told the FBI is going to give it to you first, and that you will then hand it over to us _at your leisure_.”

“Yes, of course. Our investigation should come first. She was _our_ employee.” Lucifer was staring in confusion and alarm at Uriel, who shrugged back at him.

“I know that. If you’re willing, however, the FBI will release copies to us both at the same time once they're done revewing. You have to grant permission for that, so I'm faxing you the letter to sign and send over to us.”

Sure enough, they immediately heard the _beep! OOOEEEEEE! WEOWEOWEOWEO!_ of the fax machine under the desk. Lucifer shook his head at John's bravado, then remembered John was actually on the phone and couldn’t see the gesture. So he waited in annoyance for the fax machine to finish its ministrations before speaking again.

“And why would I want to do that, John?”

“Because a woman was murdered and it’s only fair we both launch our investigations at the same time to get it resolved as quickly as possible and figure out who did this for the benefit of her family. I’m willing to take the fall for it if it was one of mine. And you should be equally willing if it was one of yours.”

“So this is basically a PR move.”

“Not my main aim, but yes, that too. Look, Lucifer, I’ve got a lot of shit going on right now and have lost my two closest allies literally overnight. I have no ulterior motive here but to get this murder investigation going quickly. But since you’re resisting, I’m going to make a very clear threat, and I don’t care who knows about it. Hell, I'll tell the world myself. If you don’t sign the form, I will personally inform Ruby's family that you are not cooperating with the investigation by allowing us to immediately review the tapes to help identify her murderer, which could very well be someone from my own damned party. More likely yours, but that's not the point. Up to you where we go from here. I mean, I wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re _hiding_ something. Do you?”

Checkmate. _Fuck_. John was a master. And really, Lucifer had already known he was going to lose this battle as soon as it had begun. When Winchester set his mind to something, he usually got it.

No.  _Always_ got it.

“I don’t have the tapes yet, John. But when I do, I’ll sign the form.”

“No, you’ll sign it now. I heard it come in, so I expect it back by end of the day, which means 5pm. Your time zone or mine, I don’t care which.”

_Click._

Uriel didn’t want to look at Lucifer for fear of seeing him implode on the spot.

But Lucifer said nothing. Just.. _.tap, tap, tap…_

 

\---------------


	16. The Press Release

_John Winchester, leader of the Insurrectionists Party, confirmed today that he has placed two of his top executives on temporary unpaid leave per standard procedure. On December 26, Castiel Novak, Chief Strategist; and Gabriel Angel, SVP Public Relations, reported to Mr. Winchester that they had inadvertently violated an unspecified internal communications protocol for two phone calls made on December 24 and 25. As the communications involved non-strategic and public knowledge, the executives were allowed to remain after agreeing to a re-training program and reduction in salary. The Insurrectionists have always held all employees to rigid but fair standards and will continue to do so in the future._

John had spent at least two hours staring at the statement Gabriel sent him for approval. He hated that it wasn’t the truth. Transparency was one of his biggest obsessions, but it wasn’t always possible. It felt wrong, but there was no one he truly trusted to bounce it off of for a second opinion. Or third, rather.

Except for Castiel. John had been resisting the urge to call him all morning long. He missed his right hand man more than he would ever dare to admit. But he was giving in, against his will. Slowly.

Half an hour later, the battle was lost. He picked up the phone and quickly dialed the number that had always been so familiar and comforting. And strangely it still was, despite the circumstances.

“Hello John,” replied the gruff, sleepy voice. John had woken him up. At 11am. That was strange.

“Hey, Cas. You awake? Do you have a minute?”

“Yes, and yes.” He sounded wary and suspicious.

“I don’t want to fight. Our media statement is due in an hour and I’m really not happy with it. Need your thoughts, if you’re willing.”

“Of course.”

John read the statement to him, only realizing afterwards that part of it would be surprising and unhappy news for Castiel. He hadn’t meant to tell him this way, but it was too late now.

“Shit...we haven’t talked about some of this yet. The salary and the re-training parts. I should have told you first.”

 _Pause._ “That would have been a better way, yes.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. If you’re really not okay with this in any way, tell me now.”

“Do I have a choice?” replied Castiel coolly.

John cleared his throat, a bit unsettled by his own thoughtlessness and Castiel’s edgy replies. It was very unlike him, but John probably deserved it.

“Ok. I’m truly sorry, I’m an idiot. But let’s stay on topic. What do you think about the statement?”

“Let’s just say I completely understand why you’re not comfortable with it. Too much spin.”

“Yeah. But Gabriel thinks we’re exposing ourselves to some seriously bad press if we don’t spin this enough. He’s still pissed about my edits to the last release.”

Castiel asked John to read it again, so he did. Then Castiel replied, “Gabriel’s right, though. You can’t tell the whole truth all the time.”

John couldn’t stop himself from firing a bitter shot across Castiel’s bow _._ “Yeah. You’ve had a lot of experience with that one lately, huh?”

Silence from Castiel. John didn’t feel bad about the jibe. At all. There were more where that came from.

“Look,” he continued after a moment, “I just can’t put this statement out and then sit there through interviews repeating these outright lies. You guys may have no problem with it, but I have a conscience. It’s not right, and it’s not sustainable.

Castiel still said nothing,

“You still there?”

“Yeah. It’s funny that you’re worried so much about transparency and honesty when you can’t even bother to just say how you really feel, instead of hiding behind all this passive aggressive commentary. It’s blatantly hypocritical, don’t you think?”

John was so surprised at this blistering broadside that he actually thought he hadn’t heard the man correctly. It took a minute for his brain to process the words and understand their meaning. Such open hostility had never passed between them before. Anger, yes, but nothing even remotely close to this. It hurt.

“You don’t want to know how I really feel, Cas,” was all he could say. A horribly weak response.

“You’re correct, I don’t. So let’s get back on topic, as you said, and revise this statement so I can go back to bed. I have a suggestion on how to start it off…”

\---------------

Lucifer jumped as his fax machine started whirring and beeping again, and it seemed to take an eternity for the paper to spit itself out. He breathed a deep sigh of relief when he recognized Balthazar’s number as the sender. It was a copy of an unusually lengthy press release from the Insurrectionists, with a handwritten note on the top.

_L: King John the Oversharer strikes again! Game changer._

_Kisses, B_

_BREAKING NEWS! John Winchester, leader of the Insurrectionists Party, confirmed today that he has suspended his two top executives. The official statement is below:_

_On December 26, Castiel Novak, Chief Strategist; and Gabriel Angel, SVP Public Relations, reported themselves to John Winchester, Party Leader, upon realizing they had each violated a critical internal communications policy during separate but related phone calls that took place on December 24 and 25. The executives immediately offered their resignations, which were ultimately not accepted due to mitigating circumstances, and were placed on disciplinary leave for 30 and 15 days, respectively. In addition, Mr. Novak and Mr. Angel were obliged to agree to an intensive re-training program, permanent reduction in salary, and one-time forfeiture of bonus pay. The Insurrectionists have always held all employees to rigid but fair standards regardless of position or tenure, and will continue to do so in the future._

He smiled to himself. John had to approve that, so he could take it for granted that every single word of the oversharing masterpiece was the truth. But that didn’t meant it was the whole story, either. December 24 and 25. So Gadreel must have reached either one or both of them through the emergency line, and whatever they did about it (or didn’t do) seems to have pissed John off royally. Especially Castiel, apparently. And John hit them really hard in the wallet, too. Ouch.

So they were rattled, then. That was good. Very good.

But it wasn’t a game changer. Yet.


	17. The Test

As soon as the press release was out, John called Dean to let him know he was ready to take him for his driving test.

“Where are you guys right now?” he asked tiredly.

“At the animal shelter but we’re ready to go.”

“Which animal shelter?” John asked, embarrassed that he had lost track of his kids. He had no idea where Sam was at all, come to think of it.

“The Santa Monica Humane Society. It’s like ten blocks from the DMV.”

“Okay. I’ll call my driver now and meet you there at 1pm.”

Dean replied, “No, you took the Impala to work so you have to drive it here.”

“Oh yeah.” John rubbed his temples. God, this headache.

“And did you remember to buy Kevin lunch?”

John paused, completely puzzled by the unexpected question. “Did I what?”

“Buy Kevin lunch. Yesterday on the phone, you said you would. Because you forgot about him.”

 _Shit._ John would have remembered on any other day, or made certain to send himself a reminder. He hated how scatterbrained he was feeling lately.

“Dean, I’m gonna have to hire you as my secretary if you keep this up.”

Dean laughed a little, not sure if it was a joke or not. “I don’t think you could pay me enough for that,” he replied carefully, hoping the humor wouldn’t miss the mark.

John laughed, surprising even himself. It was amazing how nice it felt to laugh again. Without Cas and Gabriel in the office to keep him constantly entertained, the day had felt like the world’s longest funeral so far, and it was only noon.

“Probably not. I’ll go see Kevin now, then drive the Impala to the DMV. See you soon. I love you, Dean.”

“Love you too, dad.”

\-----------------

John had Garth drive the Impala while he followed as a passenger in the SUV, stretched out in the back seat. It was nice to be able to indulge for once and hide behind the tinted windows, especially knowing full well the press statement was making its rounds and things were about to get out of control. The last vestiges of peace, and all that.

Of course word had gotten out that Dean was taking his test today, so the parking lot at the DMV was filled with eager paparazzi who had become so emboldened over time that they openly stood there with their huge cameras and kept each other updated on John’s movements. Driving a noisy old Impala around town wasn’t exactly the most discreet mode of transportation, and everyone got really excited when they heard it coming.

Groaning, John slumped even further into the seat and watched carefully as they meandered through the lot to see if the photographers were out for blood after having read the press release. It wasn’t clear if they knew, though. Everything seemed normal. No one was overly excited, so maybe they hadn’t seen it yet. Good.

Rufus pulled up to Benny’s SUV so that the two identical cars were nearly touching, and Dean rolled down the window to talk to his dad.

“You ready, Dean? Big day, but you’ve got this,” said John encouragingly.

“No. What are all these people doing here? I can’t…I don’t want to.”

“It’s okay. They want to see you succeed, too. Don’t be afraid.”

Dean quickly clambered out the window and across the gap into the other car, flopping into John’s lap before he could stop him. Not that he wanted to stop him, of course, but it wasn’t exactly a dignified motion. The Impala was parked directly in front of them and already surrounded by cameras being held by disappointed photographers. Nobody wanted pictures of the random driver. They wanted to see the Winchesters.

Dean was petrified at the sight of all the cameras clamoring for a shot of him, but John had expected them. The party’s leader’s son getting his driver’s license was a big deal in the paparazzi world. Mostly because they wanted to be the first ones to know if Dean failed, so they could gleefully spread the word. And Dean knew it.

“Dad. Let’s go home.”

John shifted himself to a comfortable position and held his son like he was a small child, offering the kind of comfort that most boys stopped needing when they turned Sammy’s age. Neither of his sons were cuddlers at any age, so these moments were few and far between, and a lump soon appeared in John’s throat that made it difficult to say anything for the moment.

“I don’t want my license,” Dean said a few minutes later, his anxiety increasing to levels that would soon be uncontrollable if John didn’t act fast. “Please. Can we just go home?”

“No. I know that you’re afraid of failing, but that’s life. We have to take chances or we’ll never grow. I’m going to give you a few more minutes to get yourself together, and then we’re getting out together so you can do your test.”

“But dad, they’re going to follow me around the whole time! It’s not fair. Why can’t we just be normal and do things like this without the whole world wanting to watch and waiting for us to make a mistake?”

John didn’t know what to say. Dean had never complained before about being in the spotlight, so this was new. Stage fright, as it were. But then again, the spotlight had never focused on him alone before. And one thing was certain: Dean was right; they would follow him around and be watching for him to fail. And no, it wasn’t fair at all.

“Okay, Dean. Let me up. I’m going to go talk to them.”

“Too late. There’s like a dozen people out there and now more are coming.” Dean was looking backwards over John’s shoulder at the entrance to the parking lot.

“Benny!” John yelled at the other car. “Go block the driveway, please. I don’t want anyone else coming in here.”

“It’s a public parking lot,” Benny replied, puzzled at the request. “We can’t just go-”

“Don’t care. Block it anyway.”

“Yes, boss. But we're gonna get the police called on us.”

"I'm sure we will. Go.”

John watched as Benny drove off and positioned the ponderous piece of machinery directly across the gate to the parking lot, effectively cutting off all cars from entering. Thankfully, the exit was separate and one-way, but he still fully expected to get completely trashed by the press in the next day’s papers for abusing his powers to make the lives of his constituents that much harder.

“Dean, get off my lap. Come on.”

“No.”

John shoved him off, then exited out the driver’s side back door. The cameras went completely nuts; there were about 20 photographers now. John stayed still to let them take pictures, and then he raised a hand. Everyone fell completely silent and attentive, as expected. He could never deny that it was nice to have that kind of power.

“Gentlemen. My son is here to take a driving test, and frankly, you’re scaring the hell out of him. He’s fifteen years old and has way too much pressure on him already. Now, he is going to get out of this SUV in a moment and get into that Impala, and drive away with the instructor. Every single one of you who walks away right now without taking a single picture or leaving this parking lot until he gets back will receive a personal invitation from me to attend a press conference today at 4pm. Front and second row seats. Trust me, it’s one you don’t want to miss.”

He turned around and pulled open the door as the men all murmured excitedly among themselves.

“Dad...no.”

“It’s alright, son. Come out. I’ve got you.” He kept his voice loud enough so the photographers could hear him and hopefully have enough sympathy to keep their damned cameras from snapping every 2 seconds.

“No.” Dean moved away into the back row, out of John’s reach. There was nothing John could do but drag him out, and he wasn’t about to do that in front of the entire world. He had to think of something, fast, before they became a laughingstock. He turned back to the photographers.

“Alright, new plan. Everyone who wants to go to the presser needs to set down their cameras down on the ground - right here in front of me - and get back in their cars and stay put. This kid is not coming out until you do that, trust me. So either you get no pictures at all, or you get no pictures and an invitation. Your choice.”

There was hesitation, and for one frightful moment John thought they were going to refuse en-masse. That would have been extremely embarrassing considering his position. But then...one man set his camera down, and that was all it took. The rest quickly followed, but then they all just stood there, looking dumbfounded.

“Into your cars, gentlemen,” John snapped authoritatively. “Quickly, if you please. I’ll let you know when you can get back out.”

They turned away. John was keeping a careful eye on Benny’s SUV; a line of cars was piling up to get in the lot and all the horns were starting to attract way too much attention to the group.

John poked his head back into the car.

“Dean. _Out._ Right now. Your instructor is here and doesn’t have all day.”

“I’m scared,” he said in a small voice, looking about 8 years old all of a sudden.

“No need. Nobody’s going to follow you. I have all their cameras right here. Look. You gotta go now, before more show up.”

“I know, but…” He seemed about to refuse for good, then suddenly got a spurt of bravado and jumped out of the car. John looked around. There was a small crowd, but no one was taking photos. He pulled Dean into a tight hug and then sent him off with a pat on the shoulder.

“If you don’t pass, it’s not the end of the world. Just do your best. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” said Dean as he climbed into the driver’s side. Then they were gone, and John let out the breath he’d been holding as he walked over to Garth.

“Nice one, boss,” the man said with a huge smile.

“Yeah. Except now I gotta invite these idiots to the office.” His attention broke away as a man who obviously worked for the DMV came towards the group. All three guards jumped out of the SUV and went to John’s side.

“Can I help you?” Rufus asked the man rudely, but John shushed him.

“I’m sorry we’re blocking the driveway,” John said apologetically. “We’ll get him moved right away.”

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester, but I didn’t come out here for that.”

“Oh? How may I help you, then?”

“Just need to collect the $115 for your son’s driving test. It was supposed to be paid over the phone ahead of time, but we can do it here.” He held up a bulky credit card reader machine.

John flushed ten shades of red as he pulled out his wallet. “Of course. My apologies.”

“No worries.” The man worked busily at his task while John waited patiently. His guards all suddenly turned away, and John could see their shoulders quivering with laughter. 

When it was done and John signed the receipt, he shook the man’s hand and made some cheerful small talk, then promised again to move the SUV. The guards then pulled themselves together and were able to look at John again without cracking up.

John crossed his arms and glared at them. “Stand at attention. I ought to fire the lot of you right here and now. If he had pulled out a gun and held it to my head, no one would have noticed because you were too busy giggling like girls at a slumber party. Totally unprofessional. You’re all docked today’s pay. Fall out.”

He turned away, waved to Benny to move out of the driveway, and climbed back in the SUV. He was furious at his guards, yes, but also at himself for being unable to see the humor in the situation. In the past, he would have been the one laughing the hardest. He had never docked any guard’s pay before, either, and already regretted doing it.

_God damn you, Castiel._

His phone rang very loud in the silent car. The guards hadn’t gotten back in yet, and he was glad for it.

“What’s up, Charlie?”

“Shit’s starting to hit the fan, boss. Your phone hasn’t stopped ringing for the past twenty minutes or so. We’re all going nuts here.”

“I’m sure. Everything set for the 4pm presser?”

“Yeah. Who are we letting in?” Charlie was rapidly pounding on her keyboard.

“Got about twenty photographers in mind, so reserve the first two rows for them. I’ll give you their names shortly. Open up the rest of the auditorium to first come, first serve.”

“We did that once and people trampled each other trying to get in. You said we’d never do it again.”

John shrugged. “These are new days, Charlie.”

“I think it’s a really bad idea, John. And it’s my job to tell you when I think you have a bad idea.”

“Noted. Then give them a numbered card as they pull in the parking lot. Once we reach one hundred, every single car after that gets turned away, period.”

“But then we can’t control who we’re letting in and the room could end up dominated by Opportunists. And the questions you’re gonna get…”

John didn’t feel like fighting about this. “They have a press card, they can come in. End of story.  Last thing: I don’t want any of the questions to be plants. I’m not going to let it be said that we packed the room with our own people in order to avoid uncomfortable questions. Are you going to argue about that, too?”

“No.”

“Good. Get this info out on the wires ASAP.”

“Okay, boss. It’s your show.”

“Yes it is. Thank you for remembering that.”

He hung up the phone, his irritation with himself increasing by the second, and sat in the car for twenty more minutes, leaning back against the headrest with his eyes closed in order to help stave off the horrific headache that was growing worse in proportion to the number of things he began worrying about.

John desperately wanted to talk to Castiel. But he also never wanted to talk to him again. He picked up his phone, hoping to see a missed call from the man. Nothing. Of course. Maybe he was still asleep, and would call when he woke up.

Benny poked his head inside the car,  jerking John out of his very dark thoughts.

“They’re coming back, sir.”

John got out of the car and waited as the Impala pulled up to his feet and parked. As he crossed in front of it Dean leaned on the horn, startling him out of his wits. Dean’s favorite prank. John should have known better.

He broke into a huge grin. “Hey bud. Thanks for the heart attack. How’d you do?”

“I passed, dad!”

“Awesome!” They hugged, and John shook the instructor’s hand.

“He was flawless, Mr. Winchester. Not a single point off.”

“Good. Hop in with Benny, Dean. We’ll celebrate tonight.”

Then, to Rufus. “We’ll drive away first with Benny, and Garth can take the Impala. Can you walk around and get the business cards from these guys, and tell them to come retrieve their cameras? Then call Charlie ASAP and give her all the names and numbers from the cards.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Rufus said quickly, “Sir, I’m really sorry about what happened. We all feel pretty terrible about it.”

“Good. That means it won’t happen again, then.”

Rufus nodded and headed towards the cameras. John pulled out his phone, turned the ringer off, and put it back in his pocket as he climbed in beside Dean.

“Want to swing through Dairy Queen on the way home?”

“Yeah!”

“Benny-”

“This car doesn’t fit in their drive-thru, boss. We can hit the Shake Shack, though.”

“Shake Shack it is, then. Tell me about the test, Dean.”

His son was beaming up at him, chatting away excitedly, and John slid his arm around him and relaxed into the seat.

Dean was happy, and nothing else mattered right now.


	18. Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which we learn the lengths John will go to in order to get his way.

* * *

John was well aware he should return to the office sooner than he was planning to, but there was no use in rushing back just to sit as his desk alone and be depressed again. But he did need to make Dean pause for breath for a moment while he made a quick call.

“Hey Charlie. Can you check my fax machine and see if…” he looked at Dean, knowing he would likely be highly disturbed by any mention of Lucifer. “You know, that fax we are expecting by 5pm. Has it arrived yet?”

“One sec.”

John patted Dean’s leg. “You ate that fast,” he said, indicating the double waffle cone that was now dripping all over the place. “Gonna have a sugar rush.”

“So are you.”

“Ha. True.” John had been so distracted by Dean’s chatter that he didn’t notice (or taste) the root beer float he had inhaled in the short time it took to get back to the house. There was a Federal Express truck out front. It must be delivering Castiel’s memo. Was he home now, or was he visiting Gabriel? _Of course he was home. Where else would he be, anyway? It’s not like he had any friends._ Except for Gabriel. _You know, because he’s literally given up his entire life to work for you._ They could be together right now, talking about him. Saying who knows what?

_Maybe even agreeing they don’t want to come back to work for me._

“John? John?” prompted Charlie into his ear.

“Oh. Sorry, bit of a bad connection.”

“Nothing yet.”

“What?” He’d actually forgotten what he called her about, to his chagrin.

“The fax. I can hear you fine, by the way.  I think we should move the press conference to 5pm.”

“Why?” John asked in a quizzical tone.

“Because that’s how long you gave Lucifer to respond to the fax. What if he doesn’t do it until 4:59pm? Then you’ve lost a prime opportunity to put some serious pressure on him.”

John smiled. “This is why you’re my right hand man, Charlie.”

“Only for now. So that’s a yes?”

“Yes,” John replied, swallowing hard at the jibe. He had always thought of Charlie that way. Maybe he should tell people how he felt about them more often. “Move it and announce it ASAP. Thanks kiddo. You’re doing a great job. See you in a bit.” He hung up and turned to his son.  

“Dean, do me a favor. Pull the Impala into the garage. I’ll take the SUV back to work. Come to think of it...I think I heard a rattle, so you may need to drive it around the block a few times first just to make sure it’s running okay.”

“A rattle? From where?” Dean was instantly concerned, but then he saw the mischievous sparkle in his dad’s eye and he grinned. “Right. I’ll make sure to check it out. Drive it around for a while.”

“Ten minutes should do the trick,” said John firmly. “Absolutely no main streets. _Ten minutes_ , tops.”

He handed the keys to his delighted son, then hopped out and walked around to Benny’s window.  
  
“Follow Dean around, then come back and get me. I gave him ten minutes, and if he goes on a main street let me know so I can kill him when he gets home.”

“Got it, boss.”

John patted the window frame, then walked up to the house to intercept the FedEx delivery man at the front door, even though his butler was already there to take the delivery.

“I got this, Chuck. Thanks.”

He signed for the envelope and then took it into his study. It had to be the report that Castiel had sent him yesterday to prove he and Gabriel were reporting themselves voluntarily and not as a result of Kevin’s findings. John hadn’t yet read the copy of the memo yet, so this was a new, fresh wound that he didn’t want to reopen already.

Re-open? Actually, it was still gaping wide. It might never _not_ be fresh. There might never be enough healing. The scars would never fade, if they ever formed at all.

_God help me..._

He didn’t have the courage to open it yet and threw the entire unopened envelope into his locking drawer. Then he picked up his secure phone line - the one that nobody could trace back to his home - and started dialing.

 

**OPPORTUNISTS HEADQUARTERS, DENVER**

“Sir, I have a call for you from Hunter One,” announced the receptionist quietly over the secure intercom line.

Lucifer’s head jerked up from the new dress code policy he had been approving. Or rather, not approving. Dealing with any amount of HR nonsense made him feel slightly homicidal. Even enough that a call from his main rival was a welcome distraction.

“Send Uriel in here first, then put it through.”

His right hand man arrived and locked the door, then they both took deep breaths and sat down.

“Hello, John. Just for transparency’s sake, I want to let you know Uriel is with me again.”

“Good afternoon to you both. I’m told we haven’t received your fax yet.”

“Yeah. It’s not 5pm. Impatient, are we? Makes me wonder why.”

John smiled to himself as he picked up a framed photo of himself and Castiel at Crater Lake. That was a fun trip, although all the water-skiing had taken a toll on his knees that he hadn’t quite recovered from yet. And Castiel...he had gotten all drunk and giggly from just two cans of beer and then insisted on busting out the karaoke machine. Gabriel was never going to let him forget it for as long as they all lived.

“Not impatient at all,” John responded pleasantly. “Just concerned that it didn’t come through. We’re moments away from announcing a press conference at 5pm Pacific, and questions about Ruby might come up. I’m just hoping by then to have some guidance on what you would like me to say about the matter, just to ensure we are on the same page.”

In other words: _send me the fax, you fucker, or I’ll throw you under the bus faster than you can say ‘constituent mutiny.’_

“I see,” Lucifer responded slowly. Tap. “Is this a live broadcast, then?”

“Yes, with a press audience. Your reporters are welcome. There will be a Q&A. I’m really looking forward to being able to say whatever I want, since Gabriel isn’t around to dictate my every word and slap my hand for saying too much. You know how I can be sometimes.”

Tap. Tap. “Silly me. For a moment I thought you were making another threat. Obviously I’m completely wrong, because you would never stoop so low. I would very much appreciate the opportunity to be educated on what your motives are right now, if you would be so kind. Just to ‘ensure we are on the same page,’ as you said.”

“Allow me to offer my apologies,” John responded politely. “It appears I’m the one who is jumping to conclusions this time by thinking you’re trying to somehow slow down the speed of the investigation. I would also appreciate the opportunity to be educated on _your_ motives. You know I’ve always valued the chance to learn something new from you, as rare as that may be.”

 _God damn,_ breathed Uriel as he eyed his boss warily. How the hell did John Winchester even manage to walk around with balls that size? If he didn’t hate him so much, he would admire him.

“Apology accepted, John,” Lucifer responded coolly, after he had taken a moment to gather his wits. “As planned, the fax will come to you at 3pm when my secretary returns from lunch.”

“Oh she’s already back, I just talked to her. Nice girl, seems efficient. I’m sure she can take care of this for you in no time.”  
  
Lucifer looked about ready to implode, but he kept his tone even. “Thank you for letting me know. But again, as I said, you will receive a fax at 3pm. Oh, and please extend my congratulations to your son for passing his driving test. We were all rooting for him, you know, even if he does misbehave in church. I’m certain he was properly disciplined and it won’t happen again. Goodbye, John.”

 _Click._ Lucifer slammed down the phone and then looked up at Uriel with a dangerous gleam in his eye.  
  
“That fucker! I swear to god, if I ever win an argument with him I might just have a stroke from the shock of it. What do you think he’s really up to?”

“I told you. I think Ruby was a double agent and he’s catching on. And now, after this...I’m almost sure of it.”

“ _Almost sure_? No such thing. You’re either sure, or you’re not. Can’t have it both ways.”

Uriel said nothing. Once Lucifer began to fight about semantics, he was too rattled to reason with any further. Anyone who had brains dared not argue with him under such circumstances.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

\---------

**WINCHESTER HOUSEHOLD**

John stared at the phone in disbelief for a moment, then took a few deep breaths to calm himself. There was no need to panic; there were a ton of people at the DMV, and by Dean’s glee when he got out of the car only an idiot would be unable to deduce that he had passed the test. And there were dozens upon dozens of people at church who saw Dean and Sam bickering. Even if no one there was directly connected to Lucifer...

_No, stop being paranoid. I can barely take a piss without it being reported in the papers the next day._

It was okay.

If not, it would be okay.

Everything had to be okay, because he didn’t know what to do if it wasn’t.

His heart dropped when he saw an incoming call from Benny.

“What’s up, you guys okay?”

Benny sounded embarrassed. “We’re okay, but Dean saw Castiel’s truck in his driveway and pulled in behind it. He got up to the front door before I could figure out a reason to stop him.”

John had to almost restrain himself from throwing the phone to the ground in frustration.

“I see. Guessing he wants to tell his Uncle Cas he just got his license. What’s he doing?”

“Yes, telling him about the license. I’m with them on the porch. Now Dean is asking why he’s not at work.” Benny’s voice was very low, he must be standing within a few feet of them.

“Fuck me...I should have thought of that. I’m sorry.” At least it was an enclosed porch and no one could take pictures of them. “If it gets awkward, go up and tell him his dad wants him home right away. Be nice, don’t give anything away. I haven’t told him anything.”

“Yes, sir. See you soon.”

\----

“You sick, Uncle Cas? If you need some DayQuil or something, we have some at the house.”

“No, it’s okay, Dean. Thanks, though.”

“Are you growing a beard..?”

Castiel smiled. “I was going to because I’ve never had one before, but it’s all scratchy and itchy. Definitely not for me. I don’t know how your dad can stand it.”

He caught a glance at Benny as the man hung up the phone. There was absolutely no need to explain the look he threw him; they knew each other so well that speech was usually unnecessary for communication.

Castiel’s ruffled Dean’s hair, then nodded at Benny. “I think your dad wants you home.”

Benny nodded. “He does, Dean. I’m sorry. He’s gotta go back to work now.”

“Come here. Hug,” said Castiel as he held out his arms. “I’m so proud of you, Dean-o.” He held him much tighter than usual, longer than he normally did, and when they parted his eyes were maybe a little wet.

“Uncle Cas, I...are you sure you’re okay? I know Dad hasn’t been very nice to you. He’s been really bent out of shape la-“

“Let’s go, Dean,” said Benny firmly. “Time’s up.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean responded without looking at him, and quite rudely. Benny blinked; Dean had never defied him before. “Can I come in and pet Angela?” Castiel’s golden retriever, much beloved by the Winchester family, especially Sam.

Benny stepped forward and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean shook it off as if were a wasp with the stinger deployed. “I said wait!” he shrieked, and Castiel stepped in at this point.

“ _Dean_. You gotta go. Angela will be here when you return. She’s asleep now, anyway.”

Two sudden loud barks from within the house immediately refuted this declaration, and Dean’s expression fell as he realized he wasn’t welcome.

“Okay. I get it. Sorry I bothered you.” He turned away dejectedly, and Benny placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Dean shrieked again as he violently slapped the man’s hand away, shoved him, and hurried off.

Benny turned and looked at his friend with a shocked and apologetic expression.

“It’s okay, Benny, not your fault,” Castiel offered quickly, his voice rougher than usual.

“I’m so sorry about all this, Castiel. I really am. I’m sure John will come around and we’ll get back to normal soon.”

“Thanks, but I would advise you not to share that opinion with anyone else. If John learns you’re sympathetic to me, well...it won’t be pretty. You can pretend you hate me, it’s ok.”

“I don’t, and I never will. And I’m sure of that without even knowing what’s going on. See you soon, Castiel.”

“Later, crocodile.”

“Alligator.”

“What?”

“It’s later, _alligator_. In a while, crocodile.”

“Oh. Noted.” Castiel’s demeanor was serene, but Benny could swear he detected a trace of sudden amusement as Castiel's attention was diverted to the driveway. “Oh, look. There goes Dean, you better catch him.”

Benny cursed as Dean started up the Impala and peeled out across Castiel’s beautiful front lawn. Then he jumped into SUV and put the pedal to the metal, but he had the courtesy to back up into the street first instead of tearing up the grass. He tailed Dean closely all the way home, intercepted him in the garage, then took an inescapable grip on the boy’s arm and marched him into the house.

\------

John lasted all of five minutes after the call before he gave in and tore into the envelope Castiel had sent. There was a handwritten note paper-clipped on the top, in Castiel’s neat handwriting.

_John -_

_I realize that by the time you read this, our friendship will have come to an end - even if our work partnership doesn’t. If you fired me, it was likely a bitter and painful conversation that I rightfully deserved, and you should feel no guilt or shame in enacting that resolution. My deepest regret is that my actions were wholly inexcusable and forced you into an impossible situation. Regardless of what you may think of me now, or whether I am to retain the honor of being your employee, please know that I believe in you 100% and will continue to fight for what we have always believed in....even if I have to do it alone._

_Castiel_

_PS_

_Please shred this note after reading._

John threw the letter down on the desk and wiped his eyes, fighting back anger and sadness and an overwhelming desire to forgive and forget and throttle and yell and apologize and..

_God damn you, Castiel._

There was a loud thump and a few whirrrrrs from the back wall of his office indicating that the garage door was opening. _Not now. Has it been ten minutes already? I’m losing track of time. I’m losing track of everything._

Was it even still Monday? It felt like weeks had passed since his confrontation with his best friend less than 24 hours ago. He could still hide in his study for a little while, anyway. It was only 2:30pm and Benny knew never to bother him, that he would come out only when he was ready. Benny would just have to wait patiently, and allow more than enough time for John to pull himself together.

Except that today was different. There was a firm knock on his study door.

“It’s Benny. May I speak with you, please?”

John looked up in confusion. Benny had never once knocked on his study door before. Nobody ever had, come to think of it.

“What is it?”

“I have Dean with me, and we have a situation.”

Good god. What else could possibly go wrong with this shit show of a week?

“Come in,” he answered resignedly, his annoyance turning to shock as he saw the obviously strong grip Benny had on his son.

“Stand still,” growled Benny as he released Dean. Again, John was shocked. His guards were not authorized to handle his children in this manner, period, so what he was seeing definitely raised his hackles.

“What’s going on?” he asked in a neutral tone, eyeing Dean’s defiant expression and trying not to jump to conclusions. Whatever Benny did, it was unfailingly for a very good reason.

Benny spoke calmly and without inflection. “Dean fought me as I tried to lead him away from Castiel, then drove across his lawn and tore it up...and then proceeded to drive along Olympic Avenue for five minutes before I forced him to turn around and come back.”

“I’m sorry, but….is this a joke?” John asked after an extremely long and uncomfortable silence.

“No, sir,” replied Benny, just as tense. “Several paparazzi were parked in front of Castiel’s, but they didn’t follow us as far as I know.”

“Oh, I’m sure they saw the whole damned thing,” John said between his teeth. Dean was dead. _So dead._

Another long silence, and then Dean blurted out, “Why aren’t I allowed to talk to Uncle Cas all of a sudden? What did I do? Or what did he do?”

John was quite literally speechless for a few seconds, and then he responded coolly, “Don’t change the subject. Did you really do what Benny has just described?”

“Yes,” Dean replied immediately. “Because he wouldn’t let me talk to him, and then he grabbed me and-”

“I didn’t grab him, sir. I barely put my hand on his shoulder to guide him away, and he shoved me and ran off.”

“ _Shoved_? I barely even touched you-"

“Alright, stop. Both of you.” John felt like his head was going to implode and explode at the same time, not that such a thing was possible. “Dean, stay here. Benny, come with me for a moment.”

John stalked out of the study with Benny close on his heels, and they went into the kitchen.

“Benny, for god’s sake. What the hell is this?”

“Exactly what I said, sir. No exaggeration. If anything, I’m downplaying it. And he tried to get away from me again when we got back, that’s why I was holding on to him.” He stared back at John unblinkingly. Undefiantly. Unemotionally. “Can I speak freely?” he added after a moment.

“Yes.”

“Don’t be mad at me, because it has to be said. You know how deeply he’s attached to Castiel. I don’t want to be in the middle again if you’re going to keep them apart. He hates me right now, and we can’t have that long-term. Just my two cents, John.”

 _And you’re exactly right,_ John mused. It secretly hurt him that Dean idolized the man so much.

“I hear you, Benny. Thank you. You said Dean fought you? Explain exactly what happened,  please. Every detail. And please know that I’m not upset with you.”

\------------

Dean was gone when John returned back to the study a few minutes later.

 _Yep. Dead._  Even more dead now, if possible.

He rubbed his temples for a minute or two, talked soothingly out loud to keep himself from screaming, and then looked around his desk. The memo from Castiel was still inside the FedEx envelope untouched, but the handwritten letter was in a different position than where he left it. And it was face up. He had set it face down.

He was puzzled for a moment, and then he realized Dean had read the letter in the past few minutes. _Shit._ It was already 3pm, and John really didn’t have time for this. He trudged upstairs to Dean’s room, where he found his son listening to music with his gigantic headphones firmly encasing his ears. He was sitting on his bed against the headboard, arms crossed, looking straight ahead at the wall.

John strode over and pulled the headphone cord out of the stereo, then took the headphones off. Dean did nothing.

“Hey,” John snapped. “Look at me.”

Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head back as if he was relaxing, but John could see every muscle tensed up like they were clamping down on his bones.

“Nobody is keeping you from Castiel. You jumped to conclusions and-"

Now Dean turned to look at him, eyes blazing. “I read his letter. You aren’t even friends anymore, dad, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

Before John could stop himself, he slapped Dean full across the face, hard. Then he backed up as Dean lifted a hand to his cheek and stared at his dad with eyes wider than they had ever been. Shock. Hurt, too, but mostly shock and perhaps a little bit of incomprehension about what had just occurred.

“Go to the spare room and wait for me there. I’ll be home around seven. If you’re not up in three seconds…”

Dean jumped up, still clasping a hand to his cheek. His eyes were wet and it was only a matter of seconds before the floodgates opened. John didn’t want to see that, so he left the room and trusted Dean to do what he was told. Mostly because he had no idea what the hell to do if he didn’t.

John quickly descended the stairs towards his study to grab his briefcase.  “Benny!” he shouted down the other staircase that led to the basement. “Let’s head back to the office.”

Chuck and the housekeeper were waiting by the door, and now John turned to his jumpy butler. “If Dean doesn’t go into the spare room within five minutes, let a guard know to call me. That’s all I’m going to say, clear?”

“Yes, sir,” said Chuck, his expression clearly indicating he was dying to know what was up. He was, by far, the biggest gossip in the household. Since by law all indentured house servants were unpaid and allowed no material belongings, there was very little else to do but talk amongst themselves, and their imaginations were boundless. That was why John never told him much, and why he spent most of his time in his study.

As John walked out the front door, Rufus, Lisa and Sam were coming in.

“Hey, Sammy,” John said, enveloping his youngest in an obviously unwanted embrace. “How was the...the….” He realized he still didn’t know where his youngest had been all day.

“Fine.”

John knew that was all he was going to get for now. Sam was stiff as a board, obviously still hostile and distant after being paddled yesterday, so John released him and let him go on his way. It would be at least another day before he would look at his dad, never mind engage with him in a voluntary act of affection.

John gave up on him and got into the car, dialing Charlie at the same time.

“Hey John, I was just about to call you. We got a fax from Lucifer at 3.”

“Thank god. Finally a piece of good news today.”

Charlie took a deep breath. “Not really. I’m sorry, John.”

“Sorry for what?” John asked in a confused tone.

“The fax we got back...it was the form, but it’s not completed. Lucifer wrote on it instead, and it says...wait, first you have to promise you won’t shoot the messenger.”

“Promise. What does it say?” John demanded.

“It says... _Your request is refused. Please find below a statement which will be released to the press at 4:30pm, should you choose to pursue the matter any further. - Lucifer”_

“Holy fucking shit,” muttered John, absolutely astonished at this turn of events. “Dare I ask you to read me the statement?”

“No.”

“Read it anyway.”

Sigh. _“_ Here goes: _At 3:45pm Pacific Time / 4:45 Mountain time, we were obliged to notify the FBI of a blackmail attempt made at 12:40pm PST today by John Winchester, Leader of the Insurrectionists Party, in regards to surveillance tapes seized from their office in Greeley, CO. Details as to the nature of the attempt will remain confidential until such time as the investigation is complete.”_

John seriously felt like asking Benny to drive the SUV off the side of the cliff they were currently skirting. Just a few seconds of terror, and it would all be over. He wouldn’t have to deal with this, or with Castiel. Or Gabriel. Or with Dean, or Sam. Or the dead woman, or the mysterious caller. A quick but messy death would solve it all...

“John, I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Alright. So...it says at 3:45 they notified the FBI. It’s only 3:02 right now, which means they haven’t actually done it yet. Right? You’re sure it says 3:45?”

“Yes, positive. That’s strange, maybe a typo?”

John smirked. “I’m going to call Lucifer and wave the white flag. Put the fax on my desk and lock the door to my office.”

“Wait, John-”

John hung up and dialed Lucifer, and told him he was backing off and to not contact the FBI or issue the press release. John hated the smugness in the man’s voice as he agreed to “cancel the premature press release” due to a “simple misunderstanding.” John hated groveling and acting like he’d lost a battle, but gritted his teeth and got through it. The reward would come soon.

Benny dropped him at the back door of the building, and John raced to his office faster than he ever had in his life. Feeling rather silly, he said a prayer while dialing Michael, deputy director of political affairs at the FBI.

The man picked up the call on the first ring. Thank god.

“Michael? John Winchester here. Before I say anything else, please note it is currently 3:10pm Pacific time, 4:10pm Mountain Time. Is this call being recorded?”

“Of course,” replied Michael, his tone indicating how puzzled he was by the urgency in John Winchester’s tone. “What’s going on, Mr. Winchester?’

“Have you spoken to Lucifer today regarding the surveillance tapes from Greeley?”

“No, last talked to him yesterday. Why?”

“Nobody from the party has contacted you today in regards to the tapes from Greeley, or to speak about my role in requesting the tapes from you at the same time they are released to the Opportunists? No contact at all? Please confirm with a yes or no.”

“No. Nothing.”

“Then I need your fax number, immediately. Please. One that goes straight to you.”

“Yeah, the one on my desk.” He gave the number.

John smiled and carefully placed Lucifer’s fax back into the sending tray, punching in Michael’s number and hitting _transmit_.

“Let me know when you get it.”

“Okay. It’s coming. You mind telling me what’s going on?”

“Lucifer just tried to blackmail me in order to impede a murder investigation, and I’ve got it all in his very own writing.”

 


	19. Follow Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No need to take your Xanax today, folks, this chapter is light on the drama. Enjoy :)

* * *

**Insurrectionists Headquarters, Los _Angeles_**

**Monday, December 27**

**4:00 pm**

“Hey. So Dean tells me you’re growing a beard. Couldn’t believe it unless I heard it from the man himself.”

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s...that’s what you’re calling me about?”

John had to resist the urge to laugh. “No, Cas, it’s not what I’m calling about. That was an attempt to break the ice _.”_

“Right. It’s actually just two days of stubble. If you’re calling about the grass, it’s okay. There’s no permanent damage.”

“No...I’m calling because Benny pretty much called me a dick for what happened between you and Dean. I shouldn’t have put him in the middle, and now I want you to understand something. My intentions were good. I was only trying to prevent awkwardness for you, from Dean asking too many questions and saying too much. You know how he can be.”

“Yes. Gets that from his father.”

John rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the first time they’ve had the same exchange, so he kept going without acknowledging it. “My point is that I have no intention of not letting him see you. It’s just that the timing was really damned awkward, and...well, you should also know that afterwards he went snooping through my mail and saw the note you wrote me. Which, by the way, was very kind. Thank you for that.”

Silence.

“At any rate,” John continued, feeling horribly off-kilter by this stilted and one-sided conversation, “I think that I need to tell him something ASAP, and I want you to think about it and let me know what you would like me to say. I’m afraid that if I do it on my own I’ll villainize you, and that’s the last thing I want. I’ll be home at seven. Call me before then.”

 _Damn it, John._ _Stop giving him orders. He’s not your employee right now._

“Take him to the press conference,” Castiel finally said.

“What?” John thought he hadn’t heard correctly.

“Take him to the press conference. Let him hear the story from the calm, honest, unemotional John Winchester, rather than the angry father who can’t seem to ever discuss things objectively with his sons. Let him make up his own mind for once.”

John was a bit set back on his heels by that; it was the first time Castiel had ever criticized his parenting.

“I...wow. Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“How is he doing otherwise?”

John didn’t want to say it, but he really needed someone to talk to. “To be honest, Cas, I haven’t spent enough time with the boys and sometimes feel like they are strangers in my house. They’re growing up too fast and leaving me behind...I’m sorry, I don’t mean to dump this on you. I only called to apologize for having Benny step in like he did.”

“I forgive you. And you should forgive Dean, too. Completely and entirely, no caveats.”

_Parental advice now, too? Geez, give a guy a day off…._

“Why would I do that?”

“Because he won’t forget it. I should go, John. You have to talk to the world in an hour.”

 _Yes, but the only person in the world I want to talk to is you_.

“Thanks, Cas. Let’s chat again soon.”

“Sure. Good luck with the press conference. Stay true.”

Those two words were always that last thing Castiel said to him before any of John’s public speaking events _:_ Stay true _._

_Lump, meet throat…._

It took John a few moments to lay the receiver back on the hook, as lost in thought as he was. Castiel had been incredibly candid all of a sudden, which was strangely intruiging. Not the black and white strategist now that he didn’t have a job to do. He should open up more often. It was rather...refreshing, even if he did insult him once. Or was it twice?

John picked up the phone and called the house.

“Lisa, have Dean get dressed in his nicest suit and bring him to the office. Tell him he’s not in trouble. You’ll have to hurry. Thanks.”

\-------------

Charlie poked her head into John’s office. “John, you have a visitor. Really handsome dude, too. Best keep him away from the secretaries.”

John looked up and waved his hand. “Thanks. Come in, Dean. Close the door.”

Dean had flushed at Charlie's words, but now he looked as though now he was the one about to get fired from a job. He stood by the door, somewhat petrified, and stared around the office through the glass panel in the wall. He had never been there during the day, and was a bit dazzled by all the activity.

“Dean. Sit. You’re not in trouble. Relax. Grab a water from the fridge if you want.”

John continued writing out his thoughts on top of the press release as his son declined the water invitation and slowly lowered himself into one of the “electric chairs,” as some people called them. He rarely had anyone in his office unless they were in trouble; he much preferred to go around and hang out elsewhere to talk and meet. Especially Castiel’s office because of that ridiculous fluffy chair that Gabriel loved so much. When they all met together, though, the boss always got the chair. Period.

John set his pen down and leaned over to grab two bottles of water from his refrigerator, handing one to Dean.

“Here. Take it with you.”

“Take it...where?” asked Dean in confusion. He looked as if he expected to be slapped again.

John sat back in his chair and downed half a bottle of water. “To the press conference. I have to talk fast now. The reason I made you leave Castiel’s house is because I had to suspend him from his job for 30 days. I hadn’t told you yet because it just happened. Dean, I want you to remember that no matter what is said today, Cas is still Cas and always will be. He didn't break the law, just a company policy. Yes, I’m angry with him right now, but my greatest hope is that I will regain my friendship with him after this is over.”

Dean wasn’t really comprehending John’s reasoning at first. “But...why am I here?”

“Because your Uncle Cas wanted you to be. Okay?”

Dean seemed to not understand still, but he nodded. “Okay. Is he here, too?”

“No, but I’m here and will do everything I can to protect his reputation. He means everything to me -  to us - but when people screw up this big...it can get really ugly. Maybe even for a long time. I’ll need your cooperation and support to help get through this. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. You’re just here to listen and learn. You can ask me any questions you'd like afterwards at home, although I probably can't answer them.”

“Afterwards? You mean, before or after you… _you know_ …” Again with the fearful expression.

John softened his tone considerably as he set his water bottle down and leaned across the desk. “I’m not going to _do_ anything, Dean. You’re completely forgiven...by me, at least. You still need to apologize to Cas and Benny, though.”

Dean looked flabbergasted. “But I don't...why are you.."

_Because Castiel said so._

“Because I said so. And I’m out of time now. Go with Charlie and she’ll seat you in the briefing room. Remember you’re just there to listen, do not speak with anyone about anything. And most like there will be cameras on you, so don’t be picking your nose or anything like that.”

That comment, and John’s unexpected forgiveness, finally broke Dean out of his shell. He smiled a little and then grabbed the bottle of water. “Does that mean I can’t fart, either?”

John chuckled. “The microphones are all up with me, so you’re safe to fart away. Just make sure you’re sitting in between two Opportunists when you do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR version: John is sorta trying to make up with Cas, but it’s super awkward because he misses him a lot and can’t say it. John takes Dean to the press conference so he can learn for himself why John is upset with Cas.
> 
> It is not my intention to imply any homosexual relationship or feelings between Cas and John. Not that I'm opposed to it...that would be hot as hell, actually. But that is not my story. They're just really super close.
> 
> I know this story is confusing at times. Please don’t give up. PLEASE let me know in the comments if you have any questions. I will answer anything. Cheers.


	20. Butterflies and Hurricanes

For whatever reason, John never got nervous before or during press conferences. Considering it had recently become a class 2 felony offense for party officers and government employees to lie outright while in the course of their duties, such a public gathering should make anybody nervous. But he liked to theorize it didn’t matter; that his lifelong and sincere desire to be honest and transparent soothed his conscience so much that speaking to this room of a hundred people came just as naturally as speaking to anyone else. So when Charlie was working with the A/V guys to do the sound test, he calmly re-read his notes behind the little screen in the corner and waited for the doors to open. Calm as can be. Everything was fine. He had this.

Then the room began to fill up and he recognized some prominent Opportunists at the exact same time he suddenly remembered he had told Dean that Ruby was a double agent. And then, heart racing, he spotted Dean, chatting animatedly in the corner with one of the most nosy and manipulative reporters the world had ever known. One of Lucifer’s favorites, actually.

“Charlie!” he hissed. “Dean’s with Meg. Why aren’t you with him?”

“You said to sit him down and-”

“Get him, _now_. Bring him here.”

“Okay, sorry.” She ran off, and John sweated bullets in the horrifying moments it took her to pull his son away from the vile woman. Was it too late? Who knew how long they’d been chatting. Did she corner him outside the doors for the past 15 minutes? Surely Lisa would have pulled him away from her, if so. Where the hell _was_ Lisa, anyway?

Dean suddenly appeared behind the screen, looking scared. “What’s wrong, dad?”

John took his arm angrily and pulled him further back, so that they were both leaning against the wall and out of sight. “I specifically told you that you were only here to listen, and not talk. That woman you were just chatting with? Basically my worst enemy. What were you saying to her?”

“Owww, dad. Let go, please.” John did, then Dean continued, “I was telling her that I was only here to listen and learn, and that I wasn’t authorized to speak with anyone but you.”

John looked at him sideways. “It looked like more than that.”

“It wasn’t! I had to say it twice. She’s so nosy. Then she was congratulating me on my license, so I was just saying thank you and how excited I was to drive. That’s all!”

“John, 5pm. You’re on,” busted in Charlie, in that overtly bossy tone that meant John was about to make a fool of himself if he didn’t do what she said.

“Wait,” said John and she stopped in her tracks. “Take Dean to the back corner away from Meg. Both of you stand there the entire time, do not move...and Dean? Play deaf if anyone else asks you anything. Not a word. If I see you open your mouth even once-”

“ _Okay_! I got it.” He caught John’s expression and then straightened up. “I mean. Yes, sir.”

“Go.”

“Aye aye, captain!” That was from Charlie this time, eyeroll included. He would have to chat to her about that later. Amazing strategist or not, she tended to be insolent at the worst possible moments. It was especially unwise to do it in front of his very impressionable son.

John breathed in deeply and stepped out from behind the screen while the cameras clicked approximately five thousand times. For the hundredth time he idly wondered how many photographers it would take to change a lightbulb…

“Good evening. Thank you for joining me.” Lighting setups for live broadcasts were always blinding, so he took the opportunity to squint like he was adjusting his eyes in order to watch Charlie and Dean take up station in the far back corner. There was Lisa, too. Good, although he would be chatting with her later for leaving his son alone with Meg.

His throat swelled a little after he had automatically looked for Gabriel and Castiel in the opposite corner, where they always stood, talking together and making notes. Sometimes Gabe would make an obscene gesture at John if he said something he shouldn’t, or to loosen him up or distract him if he started getting twitchy with the reporters.

John knew his audience had always really been his two favorite aides, not the reporters. They were a happy little trio. Now, though, his attention was on...Meg. All he could think about was Meg. And how Dean knew something he shouldn’t, and had been talking to her.

And now, for the first time ever, he was completely petrified in front of those microphones and learning really quickly what it was like to feel stage fright. He’d had no idea how much those two men carried him through these moments, and their absence was nearly unbearable.

_Carry on, John. You’ve got this._

“Ahem. I will begin by reading the statement that was released this morning.” He proceeded to read it, but didn’t really hear his own words. Why the hell did he tell Dean about Ruby, for god’s sake? Oh, that’s right. Because Dean was having a temper tantrum, and you were weak in handling it. _You’re weak in handling everything lately._

“At this point I have nothing to add to the statement, but I will take ten questions now.”

In order to avoid bias, he never selected the reporters himself for questions. Upon entering the room, every single reporter chose a numbered clicker from a basket, and there was a green light behind him on the little stage activated by a button he pushed on the podium when he was ready to take another question. The first person to click while it was green had their number pop up on an electronic signboard on the back wall for him to call out.

“Yes, number 47?”

An Insurrectionist, but an annoying one who pushed all the wrong buttons.

“Mr. Winchester, regarding these bungled communications. Was there any confidential information that was compromised as a result of this violated policy?”

 _Bungled?? Go fuck yourself_. “No. They would not have a job right now if that was the case. Hence the ‘mitigating circumstances’ I mentioned. Yes, number 13?”

Meg, who was usually first to pull the trigger and get on the board. “Your statement says explicitly that you hold all your employees to equal and fair standards, so can you explain why Mr. Novak received a heavier penalty than Mr. Angel?”

John almost laughed, because he had already predicted that would be her question as soon as he saw her in the lobby an hour ago. Everyone knew she harbored a secret crush on Castiel...except Castiel.

“He made two mistakes, and Gabriel made one. I will not elaborate any further.” Button press. “Yes, number 4?”

Another tough Opportunist. “It seems odd that your two top executives would violate any policy at all, considering you’ve mentioned before that the three of you wrote them together and all of you have been with the party since day one. Was this violation entirely unintentional somehow, or was it blatant and purposeful?”

 _Shit._ Although John had prepared an answer for this question, he was really hoping not to get it. There was an option to decline to answer, and he’d done so numerous times in the past if wasn’t legally able to answer. Maybe he should refuse to take any questions at all in the first place, like Lucifer always did, but then again...he was John Winchester. Mr. Transparent. Mr. Cool. He _had_ to answer.

It was easy to picture Gabriel having an anxiety attack in the corner while he picked up his bottle of water to buy time to think some more, praying that whatever he said would be good enough to save his friend’s careers. He knew Gabe and Cas were watching right now, from their homes. Waiting for him to give them hope...or to put the nail in the coffin.

Even worse, maybe they didn’t care anymore and were looking for new jobs already.

“Right. Difficult but reasonable question. You know I don’t spin things, as much as that would help sometimes, but I’m perfectly aware that this answer will sound like spin. And that’s the only reason I’ll admit that I’m uncomfortable with it. Yes, they both knowingly violated the policy. It was a difficult situation, and to be perfectly honest, I’m still struggling with my decision to suspend them because I still wonder what I would have done in their place. It’s very likely I would have done the same thing. I don’t know. There isn’t an easy answer. Policies may be written in black and white, but reality isn’t. As I said, there were mitigating circumstances. Moving on. Yes, number 98?”

Another no-nonsense Opportunist. Great. And then another. Then a softball from an Insurrectionist. Then, _finally_...the question he had been hoping for all along, from Lucifer’s other favorite weasel.

“I can take one more question, Yes, number 50.”

The man stood up, looking more smug than usual. “On December 25 there was a murder of an Opportunist employee on Insurrectionists property in Colorado. Both parties have been strangely silent on the matter. Was this incident related the the suspensions? Please give us an update as to how that investigation is going, and whether or not you are cooperating with Lucifer in order to identify the attacker.”

The room murmured in approval of the question.

 _Here goes nothing,_ he thought to himself. “That was actually three questions, maybe four, but I will answer anyway. First, the incidents with Gabriel and Castiel are entirely unrelated to the death on our property. Secondly, I have been in regular contact with both Lucifer and the FBI with requests to have the surveillance tapes released to us. Unfortunately, I’ve been unsuccessful so far. I feel strongly, of course, that all three parties should work together and solve the crime as soon as possible in order to provide answers to Ruby’s family, but I cannot do that without the tapes.”

He reached for his water bottle and took a huge swig, knowing that he absolutely, definitely, undeniably should NOT say what he was about to say anyway. Something he had been practicing for an hour to make it sound as natural as possible. If Gabriel was here he would likely kick him in the nuts afterwards a few times, and John wouldn’t even be mad.

 _Deep breath_. _Steady_. “Therefore, around 3:30pm today I called the deputy director of the FBI for his assistance. For transparency’s sake I must admit that this backfired and resulted in me being officially reprimanded for threatening Lucifer by saying I would bring his refusal to cooperate with me to public attention unless he signed the waiver to release the tapes. That was inappropriate, and I was instructed to wait silently for further information. Thank you all again for being here, and have a nice evening.”

\---------------

**Opportunists HQ, Denver**

“ _What. The. Fuck_ ,” muttered Lucifer in shock as he watched John Winchester  throw him under the bus on national television. He glanced at his aides to check their reactions. Balthazar, Uriel, and Zacariah all wore similar stricken expressions, Uriel in particular.

“Boss, we need to put out a statement ASAP,” said Balthazar in a quiet tone. “We’re gonna get murdered for this. No pun intended.”

Lucifer was expressionless, which - as everyone knew - meant he was in his most dangerous state. “Yes, get me a draft as quickly as you can. Everyone out, please.”

They all rushed out, and Lucifer turned down the volume on the television and watched the local news wrap-up the hour. In silence, no captions. He didn’t need them. He knew what they were saying.

John Winchester had won again. His capitulation to the fax earlier today had merely been an act. And Lucifer had bought it...hook, line, and sinker.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

\-----------------------------

**Gabriel’s House**

“ _What. The. Fuck,_ ” murmured Castiel and Gabriel in unison.

There was a long pause, and then Gabriel said plainly as he threw up his hands in surrender, “I’m going to kill him. That’s it. He’s dead. But I need a beer first.” He got up and went into the kitchen.

“Get me one, too,” shouted Castiel as he dropped his head into his hands.

———-

**FBI Headquarters, Philadelphia**

“ _What. The. Fuck._ ”

Michael stared open-mouthed at the monitor in his office for a good five minutes, then brought up his email to send a note to his boss in the Capitol.

He didn’t need to, she had already beat him to it:

_Michael, please issue a mandatory in-person summons to John Winchester. I’m available at 8am or 2pm on Wednesday. Let me know you got this._

_-Bela_

 

_On it._

_-Michael_

 

_Thanks. I will summon Lucifer, too, if he responds with anything that fans the flames. I’ll call you if so. Go home soon._

_-Bela_

 

_We might as well do it now. I would bet my life right now that he’ll fire back with something even worse within the hour._

_-Michael_

 

_You’re right. Prepare it now and then pull the trigger when I give the ok. Keep in touch._

_-Bela_

 

_Will do._

_-Michael_

Michael hit send and picked up the phone to dial his Los Angeles courier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR version: John is in deep sh*t with basically everbody after publicly revealing Lucifer is trying to shut him out of the murder investigation.


	21. Man of Mystery

Dean was very quiet in the car on the way home from the press conference.

Too quiet.

 _Way_ too quiet.

“What’s wrong?” John finally asked after about ten minutes of total silence.

“Nothing,” Dean replied. Then he unbuckled his seat belt and started to move to the third row of the SUV.

“Hey,” snapped John, pulling him back down into place. “Put your seatbelt back on. Stay put.”

“It’s a red light-”

“ _Dean,_ ” John warned calmly, with an unmistakable edge to his tone. He could see Benny’s eyes focus on them in the rearview mirror.

Dean threw him a look, but snapped the seatbelt back into the buckle and turned to stare out the window. It reminded John of the times he would always pout as a little boy when they passed by Disneyland on the way back and forth to their old office in Santa Ana.

“Where do you want to go for dinner to celebrate your license?” John asked after a minute, after his annoyance faded away.

“Nowhere.”

“I’m not aware of a restaurant called Nowhere. Wanna try someplace that actually exists?”

“I don’t care.”

“Should I tell you we need to have a chat when we get home?”

“Do whatever you want.”

Benny’s eyes were still on them, so John looked right back at him until he looked away. John felt absurdly self-conscious all of a sudden, so he dropped the subject when he felt his phone buzzing with a number he didn’t recognize. But it was coming from Philadelphia, so he had to pick up.

“This is John Winchester.”

“Good evening John. This is Bela Talbot, director of the Office of Political Integrity under President Henriksen. This call is being recorded.”

 _Oh shit._ “Good evening,” he responded as pleasantly as he could manage.

“Listen, John, in the morning you’re going to get a summons to meet me and Michael in Philadelphia on Wednesday. Normally I don’t call to give a heads-up, but I wanted to give you advanced notice so you can arrange for your flights and child care. I would advise you to fly private and bring your lawyer.”

John’s throat constricted a little. “Will this...may I assume I can book a round trip?”

“Yes. I am free at 8am or 2pm on Wednesday and you’ll probably be here for two hours. Once you receive the officials summons, I expect you to respond immediately with details of your flight arrangements.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take the 2pm time slot. Thank you for the heads-up.”

“I would also advise you to issue no further statements or make any public comments, whatever Lucifer says or does at this point. But that’s not a gag order and it’s completely up to you to take my advice or not.”

Her tone was utterly professional and smooth, with a trace of British accent. No indication of emotion at all. John wasn’t sure if that made him feel worse, or better. He may have been less alarmed if she had screamed at him outright. Kind of like how he felt better when Dean bitched at him instead of shutting him out.

He turned to look at his son, who was paying no attention to the call.

“Thank you, again. See you on Wednesday.”

Then to Dean, as he poked him hard in the side. “Hey. How do you feel about a little trip to Philadelphia to see Independence Hall?”

Dean hesitated, and then turned around to stare at him. “That’s random, dad.”

“Yeah. I have a meeting there on Wednesday and don’t see any reason why you and Sam can’t come out and spend the day sightseeing.”

The boy’s eyes suddenly got really big, and he retreated into his shell a little again. “I do. Because everyone will be watching us. Taking pictures. Following us.”

John nodded. “Yeah, Dean. In case you haven’t noticed, that’s the life we’ve lived for ten years now.”

“Well, I don’t want it anymore. Take Sam, he enjoys all the attention.”

“He’s not speaking to me right now, either.” John’s phone buzzed again; a call from Gabriel. He sent it to voicemail. “Look, I know it’s been a long day. Let’s go home and pack. We’ll head to Philly in the late morning and go someplace historic for dinner. Near Valley Forge there’s an old tavern that was used to store gunpowder during the-”

“I _said_ I don’t want to go,” Dean growled, throwing his dad a look of pure annoyance and...hatred? Was that really...could it be _hatred_?

John was actually so taken aback by his hostility that he had no reply to make. Seconds later the big SUV pulled up to the front door, and Dean leaped out and disappeared past Chuck inside the house in a flash.

John got out and nodded at Chuck, who was now holding the door for him. “Did Dean just breeze by you without saying anything?” he asked the man.

“It’s ok, sir, he was obviously upset.”

“Yeah. On behalf of my son, I apologize for his rudeness.” John’s blood was up now. Indentured or not, all of his household staff deserved to be treated courteously. Dean knew better. It was time to have a chat.

——

**Gabriel’s House**

“Damn. He sent me straight to voicemail,” Gabe muttered as he tossed his phone onto the table.

“I don’t know why you expected otherwise. You ever had John pick up when he knows he’s pissed you off? Because I haven’t.”

“No. Never, actually.”

Castiel took a large swig of his beer. “Honestly, Gabe, I can’t fathom what he was thinking by slandering Lucifer like that on national television. He’s out of his fucking mind.”

Gabriel smiled. “No. It’s not slander if it’s true. I would have agreed with you five minutes ago, but I’ve changed my mind. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Wish I had half the stones he does and a quarter of his brains.”

Castiel stared at him for a moment in stunned silence. “Would you mind letting me in on the secret? It feels to me like he’s deliberately sabotaging himself, so yes, in that regard he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“Well, think about it. We know for certain that Lucifer is refusing to cooperate with Ruby’s murder, no matter what he says next. John has written proof of it with that reprimand they issued him, and it’s going to be published in the weekly FBI digest...is tomorrow Tuesday? Yes, so tomorrow. For the whole nation to read.”

“The general public doesn’t read that!” 

“They don’t need to, because the reporters do it for them. And Lucifer’s party? Ruby is one of _theirs._ That’s going to throw his constituents into a feeding frenzy because his lack of cooperation makes no sense at all. Why would he block an investigation of his own employee’s murder? We should turn on Badger News just to see what they’re saying.”

Castiel shook his head. “No, you missed something. Ruby was one of ours. The faster the investigation moves, the faster that’s going to be revealed.”

Again, Gabe smiled. “Exactly. This investigation is going to move forward at light speed now, and the faster we are going to be vindicated, because the public will realize that obviously we would not kill our _own agent_ on our own property. Not to mention we certainly wouldn’t push for a deeper investigation if we did kill her. So the blame will shift to Lucifer, who has just been publicly shamed for trying to hinder the whole damn thing. He’ll be public enemy number one at just the right time.”

“Oh.” Cas nodded slowly as the puzzle pieces all came crashing down on him in slow motion. “ _Ohhhhhhh._ Holy shit.”

“Not only _that_ ,” continued Gabe, “but this takes the attention off of us. Meaning, you and me. Who do you think is going to be the big story tonight? Little us taking a couple of phone calls? I don’t think so. We’re old news already.”

Castiel thought about it some more, feeling a little drained now. “You think that he...that he planned all this from the beginning? This chain of events? Or did he just get lucky?”

Gabe laughed. “Are you kidding me? We are talking about _John Winchester_ , right? Absolutely planned down to the minute.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Well, good thing it all worked out. Be right back, need some water. Want another beer?”

“No, I’m good.”

 _Jesus Christ_ , breathed Castiel, as he went back into Gabe’s kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator. His heart was beating strangely now, with a rhythm and power he never felt before. It wasn’t remotely pleasant. Sickly, even. And why was that? It shouldn’t be. His friend, his boss, just took the nation by storm in just fifteen minutes and rescued his party from a pending debacle. Getting a murder investigation to move faster was no small thing. Making the opposition look like shit, which they were? Priceless.

Yes, quite a feat. He should feel proud of the man. Should be admiring his mentor. Praising him.

But why wasn’t he? John _was_ brilliant in his handling of this. His mind worked in ways Castiel could never even imagine.

Amazingly brilliant.

...Maybe a little _too_ brilliant.

…………..Maybe a little _too_ calculating.

…………………….But still brilliant, all the same.

…………………………...…...And frighteningly dangerous.

And that was why he felt no joy. Castiel shut his eyes to the sudden, very belated pains of realization that maybe he had underestimated exactly _how_ dangerous John Winchester could be with a mind like that.

He put the bottle of water back in the fridge and grabbed another beer instead.

\---------------------

**Winchester Manor**

John left his secretary’s office after arranging for a charter jet and hotel rooms in Philadelphia, then trudged up the stairs to Dean’s room. His head felt like it weighed 500 pounds right now, easily. How could it only be 6:30pm? This day seemed to have lasted a month already. The last thing he needed was yet another fight with Dean.

Charter jets were expensive. John had a lot of money, yes, but he hated throwing that much away in just a matter of hours. He couldn’t even imagine how much Lucifer’s own personal jet cost every year, but it had to seriously hurt.

When he pushed open the door to his oldest’s room he was delighted to see an open suitcase on the bed that was already half-full. John walked in.

“I take it this means you changed your mind about Philadelphia?”

“Yes. Because I know Sammy will want to go and I don’t want to be left here alone.”

“Good. But the packing will have to wait. Come with me, let’s talk.”

Dean paused in folding a shirt and watched him fearfully. “Are you going to-”

“Nope. Said I wouldn’t, and I won’t. Let’s go into my sitting room.”

They went into the little square room off his top floor master suite and sunk into the comfy chairs. Dean looked around in wonder; he had never actually been allowed on this floor before in the entire ten years they’d lived in the house. It was John’s private sanctuary, and he chose it for this particular conversation because Castiel’s house was in full view from where Dean was sitting.

Sure enough, that immediately prompted Dean to start talking. “I need to apologize to Uncle Cas,” he said softly.

“Yep.”

“Do you think he’s mad at me?”

“I know for sure he isn’t, but that doesn’t make your actions any less serious. When do you want to do it?”

Dean ignored the question. “Dad, the press conference is really bothering me. I don’t like the way that you answered some of the questions.”

John was completely caught off guard by this unexpected statement. “What? Why?”

He shrugged, then pulled his knees up to his chest. “The last one. About Lucifer.”

Dean was terrified of Lucifer, for some reason. John never could find out why; they’d never met before and neither of the boys were allowed to watch regular television or read the political sections of the newspaper. They didn’t even have access to the internet yet.

John softened his tone. “Should I regret taking you?”

“No, but I wish I hadn’t been there. It was the first time I’ve seen you actually working, you know?”

“No it’s not. You’ve seen me give interviews before.”

“This was different.”

“Why?”

Dean looked away, towards Castiel’s house. “I don’t know. It’s just...you…”

John was fighting impatience now, but he did his best to hide it.

“What, Dean? Talk to me.”

“It’s just...I didn’t know how powerful you are until recently. How everybody listens to every word you say, and wants to know what you think about everything. They want to know everything about you, and me. When you freaked out on me for talking to that woman, it scared me when you called her your worst enemy. And the photographers, and the guards. How many enemies do you _have_ , dad?”

The poor kid was almost beside himself with fear, and John’s heart shattered into a million pieces. He resisted the urge to go pick Dean up and put him in his lap.

“I understand where you’re coming from. But I didn’t mean _enemy_ like she’s trying to kill me or anything. She’s a reporter, and she likes to gossip about me and try to embarrass me. They all do. She won’t physically harm me. Or you. I shouldn’t have used the word enemy. I’m really sorry that frightened you.”

Dean wasn’t convinced. “Dad, I want you to quit your job so we can be a normal family.”

“I see. Is that why you’ve been acting out so much lately? You do realize I’ve had to punish you more times in the past two months than in the last two years combined?”

“Yes. Because I’m scared.”

“We have nine security guards who follow us hand and foot. Nothing has ever happened before, so why suddenly worry now? Don’t be scared of Lucifer.”

Dean stared out the window again, swallowed hard, then looked back at John. “I wasn’t talking about Lucifer. I was talking about you.”

John’s heart stopped for a moment. This was something he always suspected, but hoped to be wrong about. Even though he knew he wasn’t. _Well. Now you know._

Dean was trembling. He had been doing that a lot lately, even when John wasn’t even mad about anything. It had started in November, after John paddled him for the first time in months for snooping in his office and reading an old article about his involvement in bringing down the corrupt and morally bankrupt Democrat and Republican parties in the terrible years of the disastrous Azazel presidency. That day, Dean learned that his father, Gabriel, Castiel, and even Lucifer himself would be forever known as part of the hundreds of men and women who tore apart and then rebuilt the nation within two years:  _The Insurrectionists._

Unfortunately, this particular article had focused on John alone, due to an early infamous photo of him on the Capitol steps during Azazel’s second inauguration ceremony. It was a dazzling, candid shot of him single-handedly stopping a violent protester with one hand while shooting the finger to the shocked president with the other hand. That photo had instantly become a symbol of the movement, and to John’s utter horror he soon found his face (and finger) plastered all over posters, t-shirts, and protest signs. For _years._

Dean hadn’t really been the same since learning his dad was the person in the iconic photo that sparked the Second American Revolution, and John really didn’t know what the hell to do about it now. He had already explained that he wasn’t a leader and was basically relegated to being a bored paper pusher after the image made it too dangerous for him to be out in public, but nothing registered. Dean was too young to understand the politics of it all. He was only three years old when it all ended. A newborn when the picture was taken. But to him, and to millions of other youngsters as well, his dad _was_ the revolution. 

“Okay,” John said, somehow finding the ability to swallow again. “Listen, why don’t we call Uncle Cas and ask if you can come over and apologize to him and play with Angela for a little while.”

“He’s not there. Wait, aren’t you going to tell me to not be afraid of you?”

John got up to look out the window. No truck in the driveway. Probably with Gabriel, drinking beer and talking about the press conference.

Talking about _him_.

Gently he sat back down directly across from Dean and put his hands on each of the boy’s knees, and looked him straight in the eyes.

“You should not be scared of me unless you’re tearing up Castiel’s lawn or fighting with your brother in church. But you already know I’m going to nail you every time for stupid shit like that, which is my job as your father.”

“I know, dad, but it’s more than that.”

“ _And_ as your father, I would also give my life for you in a heartbeat. No hesitation. That’s also my job. Whether or not you accept it is something you have to decide for yourself. Now go finish packing while I have chef make us some dinner. What do you want?”

“Bacon burger and fries.”

John patted his knees and stood up. “Okay. Consider it done. Pack warmly, it’s snowing in Philly.”

Dean lit up. “Really? I’ve never been...wait, dad, I don’t have any snow boots!”

“Oh, shit. Neither do I. Guess we better go shopping and get dinner, then.”

“Can we go to Tropical Rainforest Cafe?”

“I don’t see why not. Get dressed.”

John grinned to himself as he hurried down the stairs to find Sam. There was always a way to get Dean to do what he wanted, one way or the other.

His phone continued to buzz in his pocket unabated as email after email after email came in. He ignored it, and the battery died 20 minutes later.

\---------------------

**Opportunists Headquarters, Denver**

Lucifer eyed the whiskey bottle on the cart in the corner of his office. Must not drink on the job. Must not drink on the job. 

Balthazar had just arrived and was reading his media statement out loud.

_It is currently, and always has been, the policy of the FBI to release surveilliance tapes to the most interested party first in any investigation. As the victim was one of our employees, we felt it was our duty to take charge of the investigation. Unfortunately, our motives have been-_

"No good," said Lucifer. "Start over."

"I thought you would say that, so I already have another draft."

_It is the legal right of the Opportunists party to-_

"No. Start over again."

Balthazar pulled out another piece of paper. "Right. Thought you'd say that, too."

_John Winchester has not been forthcoming about his motivations in obtaining the tapes faster than the law currently provides for. Until it is clear why his rushing into an investigation in which-_

"No. No. No," Lucifer exclaimed, pounding the desk. "Not even close. Write this down."

Balthazar whipped out his notepad, and Lucifer spoke slowly enough for him get it all.

"The Opportunists Party intends to press integrity charges against John Winchester for misrepresenting our stance on obtaining the surveillance tapes. Our motivation is, and always has been, to complete the investigation as quickly as possible without interference from external parties. We will not comment further, as anything we say at this point would be misconstrued as spin."

Balthazar looked at him askance.

"Boss, we can't...we can't say this. We can't accuse him of lying, because everything he said was technically true."  
  
"Did you get it all down?"

"Yes, but...but..."

Lucifer stood up and put his jacket back on. "Send it out immediately."

\---------------

**US Capitol - Philadelphia**

Bela Talbot was starting to doze off as she watched the wires come through in a jagged pattern on her specialized news monitor. _Come on, Lucifer. I know you're going to do it...just pull the damned trigger already so I can go  home and go to bed._

A jangling alert tone perked her back up, and quickly she pulled up the notification feed. Yep, there it was. And yes, he was not only fanning the flames, but throwing gasoline on them.

She pulled her desk phone over and yanked up the receiver, hitting the number 4 on her speed dial at the same time.

"Michael, you still at the office? Good. Summon Lucifer now. I want him here at 2:00pm Wednesday so we can get him and John together. President Henrikson himself is planning to spank them both and send them running home with their tails between their legs. Thank you."

\------------------

 

 


	22. Buckle In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: just in case it wasn’t clear from previous chapters, in this AU the government has oversight of the nation’s 2 political party leaders. They work independently if they are behaving, but integrity and honesty are expected and required of all political and gov’t employees, and consequences for dishonesty and slander are serious. This is not a bad thing, as it keeps John and Lucifer honest.
> 
> This is a long one. There is angst. Buckle up, cowboys and cowgirls.

**Winchester Manor**

_Finally..._

John stepped away from the window where he had impatiently been watching and waiting for over an hour for the big black truck to appear across the street in the driveway.

“Hey. Sorry to call so late. You have a minute?”

Castiel set down his keys and wallet and braced himself for whatever mood John might be in at this particular moment.

“Yes,” he answered cautiously. He had all the time in the world for the next 29 days, to be precise.

“Thanks. I have a personal matter to discuss with you. Two, actually.”

_Oh god. I’m fired, aren’t I? Either that or he’s going to give me hell for spending so much time with Gabriel...or both..._

“A personal matter?”

“Yeah. Dean is really sorry for tearing up your lawn today and wants to come over and apologize. I was wondering if you’re available around 9am tomorrow for a few minutes.”

“But I told you the grass is fine. Can’t even tell.”

“You do realize I can see your grass from my bedroom, right? Including the tire tracks.”

There was a short pause. “I forgot about that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The landscapers are coming tomorrow to fix it.”

“Fine. He’ll be paying their bill with his allowance. And I’m not forcing him to apologize, he actually wants to. So can he come over in the morning?”

“Sure. 9am works. And the second matter?”

John took a deep breath. “Listen, do you remember when I told you last month that Dean got into my study and found out way too much about my past? Well, it freaked him out. I don’t know what the hell to do. He’s terrified of me, Cas. He’s barely talking and acts like I’m going to slit his throat at any moment. Because of one damned photo.”

“He’s always been afraid of you, John. Everyone knows that, except you.”

“I do know that, thank you. But this is different.” John paused to get up and make sure his bedroom door was locked. “I was wondering if...this is stupid. You probably hate me right now, right? And I’m sitting here asking you for favors.”

“What do you need?”

“Well, it’s a big favor. Feel free to say no. I was wondering if Dean could spend the next couple of days with you. I think it would do him some good to get away from me for a while.”

Castiel was confused. “And doing what?”

John was becoming a bit rattled by the terseness of Castiel’s tone and suddenly felt like he was talking to a complete stranger.

“Just being with you. Overnight. I have to travel tomorrow and you know how he is about flying. Tonight he had a panic attack at the mall, and it didn’t help that all the paparazzi were following us everywhere. It was pretty bad. Anyway, he gave me such lip afterwards on the way home that I had to...this is...this is really awkward. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“I’ll do it, John, but under one condition.”

“What?”

“You have to talk to me about Lucifer first. I want to know what you’re up to.”

John sighed heavily. “Cas, no. Forget it.”

“John, regardless of what you-”

“And what do you mean by ‘ _what I’m_ _up to_?’ Other than saving your ass, you mean?”

 _Silence_.

John continued irritably, _“_ I never would have called you if I thought you’d use Dean as a bargaining chip. I thought he meant more to you than that. So just forget it. Goodbye, Castiel.”

“Wait-”

John hung up angrily, then laid in bed with his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling blankly. Sure, he had some serious nerve to pry about Lucifer, but what upset him more was that he had basically asked outright if Castiel hated him...and Cas hadn’t said no.

 _He hadn’t said no_ , which meant yes.

John knew he should apologize for what he’d just said. None of it was true; Castiel loved Dean like a a nephew. And he had every right to know why the fight with Lucifer had just escalated to new heights. After all, he was still technically his right hand.

But John Winchester was a stubborn man.

Castiel kept calling back until John blocked his phone number. Then he blocked Gabriel’s for good measure, and turned over to go to sleep.

A minute later there was a strong knock on his bedroom door that caused him to bolt upright in alarm. No one was allowed to knock on that door, period. That’s what the intercom was for. John waited in case he had been dreaming, but there was another knock.

“Dad?” It was Sam. John jumped up and opened the door.

“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you use the intercom?”

Sam was upset. “Can you go talk to Dean?”

“Why? I’m in bed, Sammy. It’s almost midnight.”

“Please. Just make sure he’s okay.”

Against every ounce of common sense in his body, John didn’t ask any more questions and followed Sam to Dean’s room.

Dean was sitting up in his bed, drinking ice water. With one look at his teary face John knew something was very wrong. He quickly moved to put a hand on his son’s forehead.

“Oh no. You’re burning up, buddy.”

“I know. I just threw up like five times.”

“Your stomach hurt? Like it did last time?”

“Yeah.”

“God. Not again. Sammy, go get Benny and Lisa. Don’t alarm them, just tell them to pull the car to the front door.”

“Can I come with you guys?”

“Sure. Hurry up and get dressed.”

**Palisades Hospital - Los Angeles**

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the Palisades Hospital, where Dean’s doctor was thankfully on duty. Since they were the only people there, Dean was taken in immediately to be seen.

John and Sam waited anxiously in the lobby with their guards for what seemed like way too long. Dean hated being examined in front of anyone, even his own family. He insisted on privacy, and John respected that because he was exactly the same way. But it made it all the much harder to wait for the outcome.

“Lisa?” called John. “Come here for a second, please.”

“Yes, boss?” She moved away from the door and sat down next to him at his invitation.

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for your help at the mall tonight. You and Rufus were invaluable. I was wondering if you would stay with him, if he’s admitted.“

“Of course.”

“Thank you so much. I think that you-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish; the doctor called him back to the examining room. It had been almost 90 minutes. Sam was asleep, leaning on Benny. John nodded at the man and followed the doctor.

Dean was laying on the examining table, looking at his dad warily. He had a frightfully pale complexion.

“Is he okay?” John asked Dr. Hanscum quietly.

“Yes and no,” said the pediatrician as she set her clipboard next to Dean’s feet on the bed. “He says he thinks he threw up some blood, and all indications show he was correct. We’ve been talking about how his anxiety seems to have increased past anything he’s felt before.”

“Does this mean what I think it means?” asked John impatiently.

“I’m afraid so. We’ll do one more test to rule out an eosinophilic esophagitis, but I don’t think it’s that. Looks like we’ll have to prescribe him some anxiety meds again.”

John looked at Dean, who was now shivering. “Do you have a blanket? And can I talk to him for a minute alone?”

Dr. Hanscum reached under into a cabinet and brought out two blankets, which she draped over Dean herself while John just stood there, watching his son closely. The poor kid was still a little green, and his forehead was glistening with sweat.

“Take your time, Mr, Winchester. Just come out to the desk when you’re ready.”

The door closed. Dean was staring at the ceiling now.

“Hey, look at me,” John started off firmly. They’d been through this a few times before, and his patience was long gone. “How long has your stomach been hurting?”

”Couple of weeks,” he mumbled, still staring at nothing.

“And you thought it was okay to go that long without telling me?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Ulcers are not a game, Dean. They’re serious business. You promised me last time you wouldn’t let it get this far.”

Now Dean looked right at him, expression hard. “It’s your fault, so can you at least wait until I feel a little better before you punish me again?”

John was shocked. “What? Who said I was going to...okay Dean, that’s it, we gotta talk. Man to man. Not here. Home. When you feel better. After I get back from my trip. I can’t have you worrying yourself sick over things I did fifteen years ago. This is getting ridiculous.”

He got up and left the exam room and went to find the doctor. “If I asked you to admit him again, could you?”

Dr. Hanscum nodded. “I was already planning to. Preliminary blood draw shows all sorts of values out of whack. Nothing major, so 48 hours resting and rehydrating should be enough to get him back on track again. And of course I’ll refill the fluoxetine. Maybe a little higher dose this time.”

“Okay, thanks. He’ll need a double room so that his guard can stay with him. Let me go say goodbye.”

John went back into the room and found Dean turned all the way around, facing the opposite wall. He picked up the doctor’s stool and moved it to where he could sit at eye level with his oldest son. He regretted barking at him a minute ago and made sure to keep his tone calm and kind.

“Sam and I are going to Philadelphia for a couple days. You’re going to be admitted now, but we’ll pick you up as soon as you’re better. Okay?”

Dean nodded. He didn’t mind the hospital at all. It was actually a welcome escape from the life he was growing to hate so much as he got older. This was the fourth time that his ulcers had re-appeared, despite John’s best efforts to keep the boy calm, happy, and safe.

John stroked Dean’s hair. Dean did not look at him.

“You should go. I’m fine,” he said after a moment, pulling back from his father’s touch. “Can Sammy stay with me?”

“No,” replied John, pulling the blanket up around Dean’s chin. “Lisa will be here with you. We’ll talk in a few days and figure out how to get back to where we were before you saw that photo. I don’t want to continue like this. Do you?”

“All I want is for you to quit your job, but you won’t listen to me.”

“We’re not having this conversation again,” John replied sharply.

“Of course not. It’s so much easier to shut me up with your belt.”

John said nothing more and stood up, knowing that any conversation at this point was useless. Dean was too wound up to do anything but fight, and any further words would just widen the gap between them.

Sam was awake now and jumped up when John returned to the waiting room.

“The ulcers again?”

“I’m afraid so,” he responded quietly, giving Sam a quick hug as he did so. “He’s going to stay here for a couple of days while you and I go to Philadelphia.”

“Can I go talk to him and say goodbye?”

“Yeah, make it quick. Room 4.”

Sam rushed back to the exam rooms.

“Hey, jerk.”

“What’s up, bitch?” replied Dean automatically as he smiled and struggled to sit up.

“I know you didn’t want to go to Philadelphia but this was a little extreme, don’t you think?”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, well you know me. If you’re gonna fuck something up, do it big.”

Sam didn’t react. “I asked dad if I could stay here with you but he said no.”  
  
“It’s okay Sammy. Go see the Liberty Bell. Take pictures for me.”

“It’s just a stupid bell, and it’s broken. Have you...are you crying?”

“No. Shut up.”

Sam didn’t buy it. “Something dad said?”

“I just puked my guts up like five times, Sammy. I feel like shit, okay?”

“Okay. Sorry.” He sat up on the bed next to his brother. “Lay back down. You’re shaking.”

Dean did. “See you in a couple days, then?”

“Yeah. Sorry we’re leaving you here.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind getting away from dad.”

Then Sam did something he hadn’t done in about three years.

“Move over.” He shoved his brother over and laid down next to him.

“Sam! Stop. You’re gonna push me overboard.”

“You’re fine.” He rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean threw his arms around him to hold on for dear life.

“You’re too old for this. My ass is hanging off the side,” Dean protested half-heartedly, pulling Sam in tighter all the same. “You want me to sing you nursery rhymes, too?”

“Shut up,” Sam giggled.

\------

“So the lab just called and it’s definitely _not_ esophagitis. So besides the antibiotics, I’m going to go ahead and increase the fluoxetine dose by about 25%. He should still have no side effects at all. Maybe a little drowsiness on the first day.”

“Okay. Is he going to have this problem for the rest of his life?”

“Probably. You’re not going to like this, but I would like to suggest that you take him to see a child psychologist as soon as possible. That much anxiety in a 15-year old is not even remotely normal.”

John smiled without humor. “Yeah. We’re not exactly a normal family, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Dr. Hanscum shrugged. “You seem way more normal than most of the families I see in here. Sam is the most well-adjusted kid I’ve ever known, and Dean would be too, if it wasn’t for his crippling fear about your job.”

John took in a sharp breath. He had told Dean a million times to never, ever talk about his job. “What? May I ask what he said to you?”

“Yeah, said he can’t handle that you’re in danger all the time. Surely he’s told you that, also?”

“Yes, it’s been an ongoing debate. I can’t seem to convince him otherwise.”

“Well, may I point out that he’s not exactly wrong? You don’t go anywhere without armed guards, and the poor kid-”

“Thank you doctor. I’ll talk to him in a couple of days. What the hell is taking Sam so long?”

John stalked back to the exam room and saw his boys lying alongside each other in the bed. Sam was falling asleep, and Dean put a finger to his lips as his dad came in.

John ignored him and laid his hand on Sam’s leg. “Up. Let’s go.”

Dean protested, “Dad, he-”

“Quiet. Sam, on your feet in five seconds or you’re gonna get spanked.”

“Get up Sam,” said Dean firmly, unwrapping his arms and pushing him up. It was more like fifteen seconds until Sam was out of the bed, but John let it go because it was almost 2am and the poor kid was too groggy to obey much faster.

“There’s no need to be so mean to him, dad,” said Dean grumpily as he got back under the blanket that Sam had appropriated.

John almost snapped at his oldest, but then he relented when he realized how utterly unfair that would be. Instead, he softened his tone.

“Sam, let’s get you home and into bed. Go back out to the waiting room for a second.”

He left, and John walked to the bed to look straight down at his weary son, expression stern but tone as calm as if they were discussing baseball.

“What do you think about coming to work with me when you’re feeling better? You can meet everyone, get a better feel for the office. Help me with a few things.”

Dean looked aghast. “Why would I want to do that, dad?”

“Because you seem to think we’re some kind of slaughterhouse or something, and that we’re running the world, kicking ass, taking names. I’m sorry to say you’re gonna be really disappointed when you find out how unexciting and normal the organization really is.”

“No, thank you.”

John didn’t relent. “And more importantly, you’ll see how normal I am, too. Believe it or not, I’m actually a prankster in the office and...shhhh, don’t tell anyone, but,” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “your dad is actually _not_ a monster. Keep that between us, though.” He winked.

Dean had no intention of giving in. ”Right, everything’s totally normal. That’s why Castiel keeps a gun in his drawer and you threatened to send me to boarding school if I get within a mile of the building. Just leave me alone, please.”

John’s response was simply to swallow hard; no possible retort for that one. Dean had an excellent point. So much for a peace offering.

“Right. Well,  I can’t argue with you there. I’m gonna go. Remember not to talk to anyone about any details of my job. I’ll know if you do. Sleep tight. See you Wednesday night.”

He turned around and saw Dr. Hanscum in the hallway, so he stopped her and spoke in a low voice.

“Who is the best child psychologist in the city?”

———

 

**TWO DAYS LATER……….**

**PALISADES HOSPITAL**

John was quite surprised to see Castiel sitting worriedly next to Dean’s hospital bed when he arrived back at Palisades. Their eyes locked for a few seconds and John’s heart leaped a little into his throat, but he pulled his attention away as quickly as he could and focused on Dean.

“Hey buddy. You feeling well enough to go home?”

“No,” mumbled Dean. John was not at all surprised that his son wasn’t happy to see him.

“Your doctor thinks you should be discharged. You want to disagree?”

“Yeah. Need to stay here.”

John got closer to him and felt his forehead. “This isn’t a hotel. When they say you’re ready to go, we’re going. She said she’ll be back in half an hour. Promise me you won’t fight about it?”

Dean shrugged noncommittally.

“Need a verbal answer, Dean.”

“I want to stay.”

John pushed his irritation aside. “We’ll see. I’m going to go to the cafeteria and grab a snack real quick. Haven’t had dinner yet. Castiel, want to join me?”

Cas looked up from where he’d been studying his fingernails, then he leapt to his feet. “That’d be great.” He looked over to Dean, who had his eyes shut again. “See you later, Dean-o.”

“Bye Uncle Cas.”

They walked down the hall in silence, a guard in front and behind them. Castiel then veered off to the left, but John called after him.

“Cas? What are you doing?”

“I’m...leaving? Parked out this door.” He pointed behind him.

A group of women at a nursing station was watching them, so John forced himself to sound cheerful. “Can you join me for a quick bite in the cafeteria, first?”

“Uhhhh...sure.”

They went, still walking in silence, and sat down in a private booth after grabbing snacks and water. Benny was hovering at first, but John shooed him away.

“I’m sorry, John,” blurted Castiel, a little desperately. “But Dean called me and begged me to come, and we couldn’t reach you because you were in the air. He tried to call you after you landed but it seemed like your phone is dead. And...it seems my number might be blocked.”

“It is,” replied John calmly.

Castiel looked as if he was about to say something about that, but changed his mind. “Okay. I couldn’t just say no to Dean, so I’ve been here about 4 hours. He was asleep most of the time. I think he just needed a familiar face to watch over him, with Lisa being so new and all. He didn’t say much of anything, but you’ll be happy to know he managed to apologize for the grass incident before dozing off.”

“Good.” John took a bite of an apple slice. “Did he say anything about me at all?”

Castiel looked incredibly uncomfortable all of a sudden. “He did, and I’ll tell you if you really want to know.”

“Do I want to know?”

“No.”

John grimaced. “Okay. Never mind. Thank you for coming. I know it meant a lot to him.”

“And I’ll leave as soon as...wait. What?” Castiel cocked his head sideways. “I thought you would be...you’re not upset?”

“Not at all.” Now John chugged down the rest of his coffee, but said nothing more as he wondered why the hell he was drinking coffee at 11pm. There was a long, awkward silence as he pondered the question without any answer except that he was possibly a little jet lagged.

“Ok, well...you’re welcome,” said Castiel eventually, as he played with his tie. The ultimate sign of nervousness.

John finished his apple and then leaned forward a little bit, fully conscious of all the eyes on him in the cafeteria. “Trust me when I say that you visiting Dean without my consent is the very least of my concerns right now. I would have said yes anyway, had you managed to reach me. So don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. That’s good to know. I would hate to think that you didn’t want me to see him anymore. You know, considering I treat him as a mere _bargaining chip_ and all.”

John’s expression didn’t change. “Can we talk business for a moment? Preferably without the passive aggressive commentary.”

 _Says the king of passive aggressive behavior._ “Of course,” Castiel murmured, feeling rather ashamed of his jibe all of a sudden, no matter how well-deserved it was.

John signaled Benny over and asked him apologetically to refill his coffee mug. As soon as the man stepped away, John took a deep breath. “Before I say anything else, I just need to know if you’re really planning to come back to the office in a month, or if you...you know, let’s just say I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to work for me anymore.”

Castiel looked puzzled. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Yeah, I do, actually. Because I honestly don’t know what’s going on in your head right now.”

“You know how you can find out? Stop shutting me out and talk to me.”

John could see that Castiel was entirely sincere, so he plunged forward. “Okay, good point. I’m sure Dean told you I’ve been in Philadelphia. I got summoned there under the pretense of meeting with Michael to get berated for publicly throwing the FBI and Lucifer under the bus. Turns out Lucifer was summoned for his own response, and we were hauled in together before the president himself to get our asses kicked for embarrassing the politics community at large.”

Castiel was completely stunned. “Holy shit, John,” was all he could say.

John added, “Yeah. There’s more. We really need to talk, but not here. Can you come to my house tomorrow night?”

“What about Gabriel?” Castiel asked after a moment. “If this is a serious business matter, he should hear about it as well.”

“I don’t disagree with you, but...honestly, your opinions carry more weight at the moment. Especially after how much he fought me over that last press release.”

“I don’t agree at all, John” Castiel responded, even though he was secretly flattered. “If we’re to rebuild trust between the three of us, we need to get past these differences in opinions and just talk to each other plainly in the future. Otherwise...” _this will all happen again…._

John nodded. “Okay, agreed. Since his family eats dinner at 6:30, let’s meet at 5. I’ll leave work a little early and you guys can meet me at the new house.”

Castiel smiled. “Great. I’ve been wanting to see it.”

“The electricity and water was just turned on yesterday, so I’m rather eager to see it myself. The security gate uses fingerprints, but the bypass code is 40774077.”

Of course it was. John was a huge fan of M*A*S*H. And there was another reason he wanted to go to that house, too: the long driveway was completely private and solidly gated. Although the top of the house was visible from the street, no one would be able to see any cars that were coming and going, never mind any activity at the front door. For that reason alone, John could not wait to move in.

“Okay.” Castiel wanted to ask John to unblock his phone number, but it was perhaps too soon for that. Maybe he would even do it on his own.

“There’s one more thing, Cas, before I go back to Dean.”

“Yes?”

“I just...the harsh things I’ve said to you lately. I’m not even sorry. I’m having some serious trust issues right now. With you, with Gabe, with my guards. With Michael. With my own sons. Honestly, I don’t even trust myself at the moment. This whole thing has just kind of shattered me, and I’m resentful and unhappy, and...a lot of things. But I’m really trying to work through it and get us back to where we were before. I need your patience and understanding.”

Castiel nodded. “Understood. In the spirit of being completely honest, can I say something a little harsh in return?”

“Sure, why not.”

“You’ve been scaring the shit out of the same people you claim not to trust anymore, John. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

John looked like he hadn’t heard correctly. “I...what?”

“You heard me correctly. I would like to posit that maybe your trust issues with everyone else are happening because _they’re_ starting not to trust _you_. Not your motivations, of course, but your impulsiveness and need to always have the last word. it's dangerous.”

John was flabbergasted. “That’s...that’s what you call a _little_ harsh?”

Castiel took a deep gulp of his own water. “I call it the truth. And if I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t tell you this outright and risk you shutting me out forever: you should have never thrown the FBI and Lucifer into the fire on national television. It was vain, and aggressive, and altogether indefensible. The John Winchester I want to work for knows when he’s getting too smart for his own good.”

John smiled a little. “Too smart, huh?”

Castiel did not smile back. “Yes.”

“Even though I got exactly what I wanted?”

“You did? You got the tapes?”

John winked. “No. Even better. Lucifer was put on a 90-day probation. One more misstep and he’s gone.”

“But...doesn’t that apply to you, too?” Castiel was appalled.

“Nope. I just got a warning.” John grinned. “My first one. Lucifer already had two, so that’s why I baited him at the press conference. Knew he couldn’t resist shooting himself in the foot and earning that final warning.”

Castiel almost asked if he had planned this all out from the very beginning, from the moment they learned of the murder, as Gabriel had said. It now seemed incredibly likely. But he stopped himself when he realized he didn’t _really_ want to know the answer to that.

An ill omen seized Castiel’s heart like a claw grip, and he realized he no longer trusted the man who was sitting in front of him, calmly drinking his third cup of coffee at midnight and smiling to himself victoriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to stress that JOHN IS NOT A BAD DUDE. He's just a lot more underhanded and cunning than Castiel ever gave him credit for, and it's freaking Cas out. Trouble is going to ensue because of this, as you can probably imagine.


	23. Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The part in italics is Lucifer speaking to Uriel and Balthazar. The dialogue bounces back-and-forth between him and John.

**Los Angeles**

“Okay, wait, John...so you’re saying you _purposely_ earned yourself a warning in order to see if you might be able to take Lucifer down with you?” 

Gabe was carefully aghast, and John sighed as they all climbed the stairs up to the second floor of John’s new house after just having touring the mostly-finished kitchen.

“Don’t be so dramatic. It was a calculated risk to make him behave and focus on other things besides all this back-and-forth aggression between our parties.”

 _Aggression that you started_ , thought Castiel.

“Oh, I like this big landing,” Gabriel cooed. “Lots of natural light.”

“I was going to carpet this area, but it will be hard to keep clean with all the foot traffic. My sitting room is up this staircase,” he said, pointing. “It’s the only room with furniture so far.”

He turned around and yelled down to Rufus, who was still wandering around on the first floor.

“Rufus! We’ll be up in my sitting room, all is well. Can you wait in the car, please, or in the poolhouse?”

“I’ll wait in the car, boss,” he called back.

“You can see Cas’s house from here, too,” Gabriel laughed as they reached the top of the stairs.

Castiel looked out the window. “Just the roof. Guess I won’t be sunbathing naked up there anymore.”

Normally John would make some kind of inappropriate homoerotic joke at this point, but he said nothing, which was somewhat disappointing to the other men.

There were only two chairs in the room - still plastic-wrapped - so after John closed the door, he sat on the broad window sill while Cas and Gabe plopped themselves down onto the squeaky, slippery chairs.

“Sorry,” he said. “I would take off the plastic, but we still need to paint in here.”

“So, you were actually in the same room with Lucifer when this all went down with the president?” asked Gabriel, whose expression was darkening by the second.

“Yup. Standing right next to him. Alright gents, get comfy. I’m going to tell you everything that happened from the moment we touched down in Philly…So I get to the waiting room, which they call the _antechamber_ because they’re so full of themselves, and guess who’s sitting there looking as smug as a cat in a box? Lucifer himself.”

**_Opportunists Headquarters, Denver_ **

_“So I just looked straight at him and said, good day, John. I’m glad to see you’ve gained weight since we were last together. I was a little worried about your health for a while.”_

“So I just laughed. I’ve gained maybe five pounds since then, all muscle.”

_“John was so pissed. You should have seen his face.”_

“I got up to shake Lucifer’s hand and he immediately came over to me and acted like we’ve been best buddies for fifteen years.”

_“I didn’t think he’d talk to me after the insult, which is what I wanted, but he got up and started glad-handing me until I had to move away. Twice. No sense of personal space whatsoever. He must drive Gabriel and Castiel nuts.”_

“So I tried my best to make him as uncomfortable as possible. Taking his hand and then wiping my nose and shaking his hand again. You know how he is with that germophobia. I just kept closing in. And he kept backing up, and I’m trying my damndest not to laugh the whole time.”

_“Thankfully President Henriksen quickly came out and called us in, looking like he just sucked on a lemon, as usual. Bela and Michael were seated on either side of him.”_

“They didn’t even ask us to sit. Felt like I was in the principal’s office again, waiting to get my ass beat.”

_“The first thing he says is that we have shamed our parties, ourselves, and our constituents in general. Then he gives us a copy of our press releases and has us read them out loud to the entire room.”_

“Then we had to switch and read each other’s press releases to each other. I’m still trying not to laugh. And there was this really long, uncomfortable silence as the president pulled out two books from under his desk. Taking his time flipping to pages he wants.”

_“And he hands them to us and makes us read out the entire code of conduct that John and I both had to agree to and sign before the parties could be legitimized by President Crowley.”_

“The entire damned thing. Simultaneously. Every freakin’ word. It took an hour. I had to piss half the time.”

 _“We finally get to the end and then he pulls out the appendix to that agreement, which lists all of the consequences for every possible violation of of the code of conduct. Makes us read that one, too, in full._ ”

“So basically for 90 minutes we’re doing this, and I can tell Lucifer has to piss too because he’s getting all fidgety and looks approximately as annoyed as I am.”

_“I seriously had to take a shit at this point. And for some reason John thinks the whole damned thing is hilarious.”_

“Then Bela asked us if there was anything we did not understand, so that she could provide clarification. We both said no, so she handed us a pen and we had to sign the book again with the current date.”

_“The president proceeds to remind us that per the terms of our charters, he is technically our boss, and has the power to take disciplinary action if needed...which is needed now, he adds.”_

“Up to and including removal from our positions. He then issued an order for us to speak to each other every single day for ten minutes at 10am.”

 _“We each have to hand write out the entire code of conduct, terms & consequences, and our  _ _own charters, and submit them with 90 days.”_

“If we don’t do it, we lose our jobs. Period.”

_“Then he issued me a final warning, and gave John his first warning. Then he dismissed us.”_

“And that was it. I ran to the bathroom on one side of the lobby and Lucifer ran to the other one. And when we came out, we were told a car was waiting for us.”

_“The nail in the coffin came when we were made to share a car back to the airport, and there was a ton of traffic on 95 so it took forever to get there.”_

“We didn’t talk at first, until I asked him if he was still friends with Bobby Singer. Turns out they’re still in touch. Bobby’s some kind of school teacher now in Virginia. That surprised the hell out of me, to say the least. Didn’t seem he was that type. Anyway, at least we found that common ground to talk about.”

_“On the way there, John asked me about Bobby Singer. I knew they had some kind of falling out ten years ago, but I didn’t know they were that close. So I just said he was a teacher. Didn’t mention what kind.”_

“And then we got to the airport. Sam just about wet his pants when he saw us get out of the car together, and my guards probably did, too, but there was no further drama.”

Castiel looked surprised. “You actually talked about Bobby Singer? Your college roommate who almost shot you the last time you saw each other?”

Gabriel’s eyebrows raised way up. “Wait, what? I haven’t heard this particular story. Do tell.”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Cas.” John rolled his eyes. “As you know, we parted ways after Lucifer asked him to join the Opportunists. Bobby thought that’s where I was headed, too. In the same night, he learned I was chosen to run the Insurrectionists _and_ that we’d been banging the same woman...well, let’s just say we had a really big fight about it, among other things. Anyway. He ended up getting married to one of my old girlfriends later on. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Sordid. So now you and Lucifer are BFFs now, huh?” asked Gabriel with a thin smile.

John frowned. “Hardly. But I think we came to somewhat of a truce by the time we got to the airport. There’s something else, though, and it’s the reason I asked you to come over.”

Gabe moaned. “Oh god, what now?”

John cleared his throat. “He told me this morning on the phone that Uriel suspects Ruby was a double agent. Then he said their double agents are so untrustworthy that as of yesterday they're not going to use them anymore, after one went radio silent for a week. He asked me to do the same, in order to _maintain good relations_. What do you think of that?”

Gabriel blurted right away, “I think he’s lying.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Castiel. “Don’t trust him, John. Not for a heartbeat. He may not be _employing_ them, strictly speaking, but he’ll get inside information in other ways.”

John nodded. “The thought occurred to me afterwards that maybe I should have asked Lucifer if that agent was responsible for the calls that got you guys in trouble.”

Castiel shook his head. “He has no reason to tell you that.”

“He fired him for a reason, Cas. And he last heard from him at Christmas, or right before. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. He wouldn’t have mentioned it other-” He paused as a low, jangly noise emanated from his backside. “Hang on, my phone’s ringing.”

John pulled it out of his pocket and was astonished to see Lucifer’s cell phone number and name in the caller ID. He managed to keep a straight face somehow and stood up to walk just outside the door, then answered the phone cheerfully.

“Hey Sammy, what’s up?”

“John, it’s...it’s Lucifer,” said the curt voice on the other end.

“Oh yeah, I know,” John relied casually. His heart was pounding in his ears.

“Ah, I see. You’re not alone.”

“Nope.”

“I’ll make this quick, then. On our call this morning you asked me if I would consider turning the name of our double agent over to you. The one I just had Uriel fire for going silent on us for a week.”

John’s throat went dry. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I will tell you his name 24 hours from now if you do me a favor.”

John felt a bit dizzy and sick suddenly.

“Why exactly are you calling to tell me this now? Could this not have waited?”

John heard Lucifer take a deep breath. “I needed an unrecorded line. On tomorrow’s 10am call, I’m going to ask you if Ruby was a double agent. Uriel is going to be with me, listening silently. I need you to not fight with me about it, and just say no. Even if she was.”

“Uh. Why?”

“I can’t tell you right now. You’ll have to trust me.”

“Ah. The answer is no, I won’t do you that favor. Don’t ask me again, Sammy.”

John hung up, rattled to the core. _Fuck..._

“John? Everything okay?” Gabe asked in alarm as he saw John’s flushed cheeks a moment later.

“Yeah, I’m...it’s been a long day. Let’s get out of here and go back to the house for dinner. I can’t think straight anymore.”

“John, we haven’t even-” they both began.

“Let’s go anyway.”

He hurried down the stairs while Castiel and Gabriel looked at each other with wide eyes.

“That wasn’t Sam,” whispered Gabriel. “Did you notice the ringtone?”

“No. Why?”

“It was the ‘Halloween’ theme song.”

Cas was still puzzled. “Okay, so..?”

“It’s kind of an inside joke. That’s the ringtone John uses for Lucifer. And only for Lucifer. I’m telling you, that was _not_ Sam.”

“What the hell...” whispered Castiel.

 


	24. Keep your friends close...

**Winchester Manor**

**December 31, 1994**

With the servants in Eagle Rock for the weekend, John took it upon himself to cook breakfast for his sons. Normally they would go to a restaurant on Saturday mornings, but with the recent media circus and Dean’s new unwillingness to go out in public, the whole tradition was suddenly now more of a massive burden than anything else.

Dean hadn’t willingly spoken to his dad since his release from the hospital, and secretly John was glad for it. Not that he would ever admit it, of course; but if Dean wasn’t talking, it meant he also wasn’t complaining or being insolent. Sam wasn’t saying much, either, but that was okay, too. John desperately needed the peace and quiet.

John didn’t bother to wake up his oldest for breakfast. He knew the moment he threw the bacon on that Dean would rise up like a cartoon and follow his nose down the stairs. Sam was seated at the table, reading a comic book, when John’s phone rang. Since Castiel and Gabriel were still blocked, there was really only one person who would be calling him at a time like this. Well, maybe two, but he already knew which one it was.

“Hey Charlie.”

“Good morning, boss. I just got a call on the emergency line from an anonymous agent.”

John turned off the stove and removed all the pans. “Hang on.” Then, to Sam, “I’ll be right back. Make sure the dogs don’t jump up on the counter to get at the food.”

He went into his study and locked the door.

“God, I’m afraid to ask. What’s going on?”

“As soon as I answered he blurted out that he was the one who called Castiel on Christmas eve and Gabriel on Christmas day. He won’t speak to anyone but you and said he will call in exactly 48 hours. That is literally all he told me, verbatim. I didn’t get a word in edgewise before he hung up.”

Charlie sounded scared, and John knew why. She didn’t want to be accused of talking with an unverified asset, like her unfortunate colleagues.

“It’s okay. You did good. Speaking of which, I didn’t get the chance to ask you yesterday if there there is any news about those meetings I had before Christmas? Any clue as to who could have been the secret Opportunist?”

Charlie sighed a little. “Well, I’ve been able to definitely exclude three of them, and I’m focusing on the other two. I promise you I will have a better update on Monday evening.”

“Can you come to my new house on Monday morning at 7 for this call? I’ll call you tomorrow with the address and gate code.”

“Will do. See you then.”

John’s heart was pounding so hard that he felt physically ill and had to sit down for a few minutes. Normally at a time like this he would be rapidly dialing Castiel to get his take on the incident, but that was the farthest thing from his mind right now.

He picked up his phone and scrolled through his work emails, then took a peek into his personal email, which was nearly all junk. But there was one message from Gabriel’s personal email that was two days old.

“John, just wanted to let you know Cas and I are going to Maui for a week. Back on January 6. Happy New Year.”

Gabriel had a little beach house there. It would do both of them a lot of good to get away and have some privacy, so John was happy for them, but he still deleted the message without responding. By the time he returned to the kitchen, Dean was hovering over the bacon and the dogs had been taken outside, where they were busy struggling for custody of a Frisbee, tails banging against the french doors.

“Dean, sit down. Bacon’s not done yet.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean turned and sat, then picked up one of Sam’s comic books.

“How’s your stomach?”

“Fine, sir.”

Again with the unnecessary _sir_. John resisted a sigh as he pulled the pan back on the stove.

“Sammy, why don’t you go play with the dogs for a minute. I want to talk to your brother.”

“Yeah, right. You guys just want to eat all the bacon for yourselves!”

John scowled. “I’m hurt. That’s not true. You know we’ll save a couple slices for the dogs.”

“You suck, dad.” Sam grinned and went outside, where he joined in the struggle for the Frisbee.

John said absolutely nothing in a test to see what Dean would do. Sure enough, the boy began fidgeting as he waited for his dad to speak. Then he started drumming the table, which he knew his dad hated. John didn’t take the bait.

A few minutes passed, and Dean couldn’t take it anymore. Just what John was hoping for.  
  
“What is it, dad?”

John smiled a little. “Oh good, I’m _dad_ again. Thought you disowned me there for a while. Food’s done, go get your brother.”

Dean blinked, expecting to have a little more of a talk than just that. John turned away and busied himself with the dishes.

\---------------------------

 

**Opportunist HQ - Denver**

**December 31, 1994**

Lucifer normally didn’t work on Saturdays, much less on New Year’s eve, but it was a new era. Uriel was obsessed with the idea that Ruby had been a double agent, and now Lucifer was convinced, too. The possibility was driving him crazy. Her murder had been planned to frame John, but now everything could be turned upside down. He wasn’t the praying type, but if he was, he would have been asking for the tapes to not show even the slightest glimpse of Gadreel.

Uriel was also convinced that Gadreel didn’t realize he was on Insurrectionists property at the time. Lucifer wasn’t so sure. The man had turned before, and could turn again. In fact, considering they hadn’t heard from him in a week, that was increasingly becoming a possibility, too.

Lucifer took another drink of chai tea and flipped through the final pages of the charter. He had chosen to write that one out first, since it was shortest, but it was still taking far too long. Damn Michael and his schoolboy punishments.

Uriel walked into his office without a sound, as usual.

“Boss? Got a second?”

“Yeah. Sit down.”

Uriel’s massive body made the chair creak. “I was wondering...I hope you don’t mind me bringing this up again. But I thought you were going to ask Winchester if Ruby was a double agent? You’ve spoken to him twice since we agreed on that, and-”

“Yeah, I know. But he’s not going to tell us if she is. Or was, rather.”

“Still might be good to ask. We might be able to figure it out from his reaction.”

Lucifer set down his pen and leaned back. “Look, I’ve been thinking. One more misstep and I’m out. You understand that, right?”

Uriel nodded. “Yes.”

“So...I’m all but praying the FBI doesn’t identify Gadreel. If they do, John will reveal Ruby was double and then it will make even less sense that she was killed by one of their own agents on their own property. And _then_ it will become clear that Gadreel was also double. Then I’m out of the game. So we’re going to leave this Ruby issue alone right now and wait for the FBI to hopefully declare it a cold case. So don’t ask me again, please. In fact, don’t even mention her at all.”

Uriel was stone-faced. “I understand. So that brings up just one more question, and then I’ll shut up. May I? Thank you. I have a feeling Winchester set you up with that press conference of his. He wanted you to take the bait.”

“I know, we’ve already discussed this. I was stupid and I’m paying the price.”

“Okay. Sorry. My point is, he wanted you exactly where you are now, and he got it. Which means she was double. Period. What makes you think John won't volunteer that information himself?"

"Because he doesn't know what side the killer was on. Are we done now?"

"Yes. That’s the last time I’ll mention it.”

Lucifer took a deep breath and calmed down a little. “I actually happen to agree with you, which is why I’m walking the straight and narrow from here on out. It’s time for me to accept I can’t win against John Winchester. Never have before, and he’s getting smarter every time. There’s no reason we can’t just start cooperating with him. It’s not like our parties are that different.”

Uriel was incensed. “Cooperating? You can’t be serious.”

“I am. At least on the subjects we happen to agree with. The government is really our biggest enemy right now, Uriel. Look at what they’re doing with trying to strengthen the felony manual labor laws. It’s slowly escalating to cruel and unusual punishment over the years. We’ve watched it happening and done nothing, because we’re too proud to band together and fight back. And that’s just one example of where we should be cooperating.”

“You’re basically talking about rebelling against the government.”

“No. It’s called lobbying. We would never be doing anything illegal. Speaking of which, if Gadreel ever calls back, tell him his services are no longer needed and we’ll send him a nice payment for what he’s done so far. In fact, why don’t you try calling him again today and letting him know.”

“I doubt we’ll ever hear from him again,” muttered Uriel.

“Fine with me. What he apparently did to Castiel and Gabriel is more than satisfying enough. But I’m telling you, as of right now, this subterfuge stops. I don’t want to lose my job. We have to focus on other things from here on out. And you know there’s another reason I want to work with John.”

Uriel smiled. “Ah yes, I wondered when you would quote Napoleon again. It’s been at least two days. _Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer_.”

Lucifer smiled back as he stood up. “Exactly. Here, I’ll get some cash out of the safe for Gadreel in order to entice him to meet you. Then let him know outright he is never to contact us again or we’ll turn him in for his little cocaine trafficking side job.”

“You got it, boss. He’ll want to see a payment slip to know this isn’t a trick. I won’t actually give it to him, of course.”

“No problem. Fill it out for me and I’ll sign it.”

\-----------------

“Gadreel? It’s Uriel.”

“What’s all that noise?” Gadreel asked.

“Just wind. Sorry, I’m driving and the sunroof is open. Hang on.” There was a long mechanical sound as the roof closed. “Listen, I just left Lucifer’s office. He wanted me to pass along a message to you.”

“Oh great. What now?”

“He’s really happy about the work you did with Castiel and Gabriel. Wants to send you a nice big payment for it, and an advance for other future services which I’m about to ask you for.”

“What services?”

“Among other things, he wants you to call the FBI and tell them you were ordered by John Winchester to kill Ruby, because he no longer trusted her as a double agent. With the hope that in doing so on Insurrectionists property, Lucifer would be framed. Obviously you’ll have to use a voice changer and everything. I have some other details to share first before you do that, so they know you are legit.”

Another long pause from Gadreel. “Okay. I’ll need authorization from Lucifer directly, as you know.”  
  
“I have it right here, and the payment as well. In cash.”

“Cash?”

‘Yes, indeed. Where can we meet?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shiat....Uriel's gone rogue xD


	25. Panic Station

January 3, 1995

**Winchester Manor**

John slammed his hand down on the alarm clock and turned over with a grumble. Today was the day their mystery man was due to call, and Charlie was due to the house in an hour. He almost didn’t want to know what the strange caller had to say, and the overwhelming desire to quit his job and go live in a cabin in the woods overtook him for the tenth time since Christmas, at least. Nothing really seemed worth living under such stress anymore.

He fell back asleep and was soon awakened by the second alarm that had been set for 6:30am.

**La Quinta Inn, Phoenix Airport**

Gadreel once again opened his wallet and counted the money advance that Uriel had given him to frame John Winchester for Ruby’s murder. He smiled, and then counted it once more. For this kind of cash, he’d do pretty much anything.

He picked up the phone in his room, connected the voice changer to the mouthpiece, and dialed Michael in Philadelphia.

**FBI Headquarters, Philadelphia**

“This is Michael, how may I help you?”

“Uh, yes. I’m calling in with an anonymous tip in the case of the recent murder in Colorado.”

Michael sat straight up. “I’m listening. Please proceed.”

“I’m going to give it to you straight, then I’m hanging up before you can trace me. I’m a professional hitman. John Winchester contacted me and offered me $10,000 cash to kill Ruby. I declined, but obviously he got someone else to agree to it.”

“I see. And did he give you a reason for wanting to kill her?”

“Yes. He said she’s a double agent for the Insurrectionists, and that I was to follow her to a drop-off spot on their property so that Lucifer would be blamed once Winchester announced she was double. He wanted me to shoot her in the back of the head with an untraceable bullet, which I wouldn't have been able to obtain in time. Hence, my reason for declining.”

“Okay. Why are you turning him in and taking the risk of being identified? Your motives for calling me are just as important as Winchester’s are for killing Ruby. For example, maybe someone paid you even more money to pin the blame on him.”

Gadreel hadn’t expected that question, but he was a smooth talker and a fast thinker. “If I’m not telling the truth, how could I possibly know she was a double agent, or the details of her execution method? Goodbye, Michael. Time to do your job and lock him up.”

**Maui, Hawaii**

“Cas...it’s almost 4 o’clock in the morning. What are doing out here sitting in the dark?”

“I don’t know. Can’t sleep. Why are you awake?”

Gabriel shrugged in the dark, even knowing the other man couldn’t see the gesture. “Same deal, I guess.” He sat down, too. “Can’t stop wondering if John will ever forgive us.”

“Well, stop wondering. He won’t. My brain is actually stuck on those calls we got on the emergency line. Do you think he’s doing anything at all to identify that person?”  
  
“No, but Charlie is. She started working on that before we got...in trouble. All I know is that part of me still believes he was telling the truth, that John unknowingly met with an Opportunist and paid out money to get something done. He’s done similar things before, although none of it has ever been against the law.”

Castiel sighed. “You mean like the time he paid off Dean’s teacher to tutor him at his house in order to prevent him from repeating 8th grade? Or paid a reporter to destroy camera film on the spot? Things like that?”

“Yeah. Like I said, not against the law, and hardly scandalous.”

“No, but not exactly kosher, either. He’s done some really borderline shady things. I don’t like how he flaunts his ability to charm his way out of trouble. Or the way he plans moves way in advance like a chessmaster, and I’m referring to the whole thing with Lucifer and the FBI tapes. That is a case study in Machiavellian strategery. I know he’s never technically broken the law, but Gabe...he’s going to cross the line someday, if he hasn’t already. It’s inevitable. He thinks he’s untouchable.”

Gabe laughed a little. “Castiel, you’ve known him for over ten years and you’re just now realizing this? I knew that from day one. Come on.”

Castiel shook his head. “No, I knew. But recently...well, he’s gone from merely playing with fire to actually burning himself on purpose with that press conference stunt, and I swear to god he enjoyed every second of the smoldering wreckage he left behind. I’ve never seen him do anything like that before. Have you?”

“No. But he’s had a very long rivalry with Lucifer, and maybe it just feels good to see the man put in his place for once.”

“For _once_? John forced him into a final warning with the president, and he was also the cause of all three warnings before that. He’s going to get taken out just like Ruby if he’s not careful, or maybe locked up, and then his sons...you know what, I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Seriously, Cas? That’s what I’m here for. To talk these things out. I’m just trying to play the devil’s advocate here.”

Castiel grumbled, “You’re doing a shitty job by just defending him blindly. Don’t you realize how self-destructive and dangerous he’s become lately? I can’t be the only one seeing this. His ego is going to be his downfall, and disaster is just around the corner.’

Gabriel said nothing for a long time.

“You still awake?” Cas prompted after a while.  
  
“Yeah. Just thinking about all you’ve said. Cas, you’ve never doubted him until we got that call. Never. Did it really rattle you that much? Don’t you think it could just easily be something Lucifer set up in order to shake our confidence? John isn’t the only chessmaster in this game, you know. None of our agents in their right minds would ever refuse to give their identifying code. The only thing that stands to reason is that he wasn’t one of our agents at all.”

Castiel was quiet for a little while, and then he replied, “No, actually. I hadn’t given that much thought.”

“Well maybe you should, before you keep excoriating John any further. Maybe he isn’t the only one who is getting exactly what he wants right now. If anything, Lucifer is more dangerous now because he’s cunning _and_ desperate not to let John win again. I’d be willing to bet big bucks that John is going to step aside entirely at this point and just wait for Lucifer to fall on his own sword.”

“Yeah. I see what you mean. Thanks, Gabe.”

“Sure. Go back to bed. This will all be clearer in the morning.”

“God, I hope so.”

\----------------

**Winchester Manor**

Charlie’s phone rang at exactly 8am, and even though John was expecting it, he still nearly had a coronary when it happened.

“John Winchester.”

“Mr. Winchester. I’m using a voice changer, so don’t try to identify me.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“I am the person who called Castiel on Christmas eve and claimed you met with an Opportunist and gave him money to plant an agent in the government.”

“Okay. And who are you, exactly?”

“I’m calling to tell you it was someone higher up in your own party who put me up to it. Not Gabriel or Castiel. But someone within your headquarters.”

“I see. And you’re an Opportunist yourself, I gather?”

“I was, yes. Now I’m neither party. You’re all really fucked up, you know that?”

John cleared his throat, not sure what to say next. Charlie looked at him and shrugged, her face a picture of blank confusion.

“Right, so...why are you calling to tell me this, exactly?”

“Simple. My loyalties lie to my bank account now, so I want you to pay me a lot of money to tell you who it was that put me up to this. I’ll call you back in exactly 7 days from now to hear your initial offer. Expect to negotiate up for a while. Goodbye.”

“Wait-”

The line went dead, and John wasn’t really sure if his heart was still beating or not.

**La Quinta Inn, Phoenix Airport**

Gadreel hung up the phone and grabbed his duffel to make his way to the airport. While he waited at the gate, he made a quick call to Uriel.

“Hello, kind sir. Michael is aware of the situation. Vacation’s over and I’m headed back to Los Angeles now for my drudgery of a day job. Awaiting further instructions….and payment.”

Uriel laughed. “Who knew a mere accounts payable specialist could be so treacherous.”

“Oh, my friend. I have not yet begun to fight. Just you wait. Talk soon.”

Gadreel hung up, and then smiled as he pulled out his Insurrectionists employee ID badge and studied his picture for the hundredth time. Almost five years at the company now, just enough to avoid suspicion. He wasn’t sure how long he could play both sides, but it sure was going to be fun while it lasted. And quite profitable, if the past two days were any indication.

**January 9, 1995**

John was fitfully resting in bed after the Sunday servants banquet while one of his dreaded tension headaches pounded like a bass drum on his temples. This was disappointing considering it had been an unusually peaceful week, with both of his boys behaving perfectly and the paparazzi mostly leaving them alone. The latter was mostly because business was back to where it had basically been before Christmas, with no new inflammatory press releases or devastating news to report. Even Lucifer was being nice on their daily calls, saying nothing that raised John’s hackles or gave him reason for suspicion. Charlie was still working diligently on all her leads, and John was confident they would have an answer to his many questions soon. 

He already knew he wasn't going to offer the mystery caller any money, so that point of stress was on the side burner for now. If there really was a mole in the company, which he doubted, he would ask for Castiel's help to sniff him or her out. In the meantime, he had to focus on his own overwhelming workload.

John was just about doze off, but groaned as his phone began buzzing on the dresser. He would have given anything to be able to ignore it with no damage to his conscience.

“Yeah, Benny. What’s up?”

“Boss, sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Your sons just got kicked out of the library.”

“Oh god,” John moaned. “I knew this day was too good to be true. What exactly did they do?”

Benny continued, “They were scuffling. One of them - they won’t say who - knocked over a sculpture and broke it. Shattered it, actually. I’m being asked to pay for it on the spot.”

John closed his eyes and counted to ten in order to compose himself. Boys will be boys, and he had been just as much of a delinquent at that age...but his father wasn’t constantly in the spotlight, either. Dean and Sam knew better than to draw negative attention to themselves, and that’s what infuriated him.

“Okay. I hope it’s not some kind of Ming Dynasty vase.”

“No, but they’re asking for almost three thousand dollars, sir.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “And my sons were definitely at fault?”

“Yes, sir. I saw part of it happen, just not enough to conclude which one of them did it.”

“Okay. Put whoever is asking you for money on the phone with me, please.”

Another pause, some shuffling noise. “This is Amara.”

“Good morning, ma’am. This is the father of the boys who broke your sculpture. I’m so very sorry. Will you please give Benny a bill for my records? I’ll have him return with payment in the morning.”

Her tone was highly skeptical. “ _Right._ You’ll just voluntarily return with a few thousands dollars sometime tomorrow. I’ll just call the police and make a report, instead. Thank you anyway.”

 _“Wait.”_ John realized with a start that this woman didn’t know who the boys were, or who he was. That could be a good thing about 99% of the time, but right now it was pretty much the worst thing. “Ma’am, make out the bill now and I’ll be over in twenty minutes with cash. Yes, _cash_. My boys will stay there with their, er, babysitter until I get there. Please don’t call the police. You’ll understand why when I arrive.”

There was a pause long enough to make John worry, but then she finally agreed. “Twenty minutes, then. That’s all I’m giving you. We close in half an hour,” she added firmly.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

John cussed up a storm as he spun the dial to his safe and pulled out the cash, but his sense of humored returned quickly when he pulled up fifteen minutes later in the Impala with Garth; Amara turned sheet white and grasped onto Benny to keep herself upright.

“Mr. Winchester. _I’m so, so sorry._ I didn’t know that was you.”

John struggled not laugh at Benny’s expression as he pretended to be contrite. “Please accept my apologies for not introducing myself. May I have the bill?”

She handed it over with a shaky hand, eying him like he was a lion about to take down a gazelle. “Do you...I mean, want the evidence, and your boys said they did it, and…if I would have known-”

“Ma’am, it’s okay. I promise I don’t bite.” He pulled open his wallet and pulled out $2,940. “I’d like a receipt, please. As quick as you can. And discreetly, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, sir.”

John walked away and climbed into the SUV where Sam and Dean were waiting, slamming the door behind him. Benny stayed outside with Garth and moved away to the other side.

“It was me, dad,” Sam confessed immediately. “I bumped into it.”

John was surprised to find he couldn’t muster up any real anger about the incident. On the contrary, he felt deeply sorry for his sons. They couldn’t get into any kind of trouble without the threat of it being all over the news the next day, and that wasn’t fair. Hardly a childhood at all.

But it wouldn’t do to let his children think they could act like hooligans just because their father felt guilty for being a public figure. He cleared his throat and affected an angry expression.

“ _Bumped_ into it. While doing what? Having a seizure?”

Sam swallowed hard. “No. We were, I was...well, it just kind of happened.”

“It was my fault,” put in Dean, very quietly.

John resisted the urge to ask them no further questions and forgive them on the spot. They wouldn’t learn anything that way.

“Rough housing in the library, huh? Are you trying to get yourselves-”

Sam protested immediately, “Dad, we weren’t rough housing. Dean had a panic attack-”

“Shut up, Sammy!” hissed Dean.

 _“You_ shut up _!”_

“Boys!” yelled John. “What the hell? Sam, finish your explanation. Dean, shut it or else.”

Sam was breathing hard. “He _was_ having a panic attack, and he kind of shoved me backwards trying to get outside, and I fell into the pedestal that the sculpture was on. It wasn’t his fault, he just needed to get some air and he was freaking out.”

Dean was instantly irate. “No I wasn’t! We were fighting because Sam was being obnoxious.”

“I was not! You were totally freaking the fuck out over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing!” Dean objected.

“I was trying to _help_ you, you stupid piece of-”

Dean shoved his brother backwards and Sam shoved back even harder, then they started hitting each other. John separated them easily by dragging Sam over his lap on the opposite side of the car.

“Alright, that’s settled. You’re both getting punished when we get home. You’ll go directly to my study-”

“I didn’t do anything!” protested Sam angrily, at same time Dean said, “It was an accident!”

Now John’s anger was real. “I don’t care about the sculpture! The world will be fine with one less crappy piece of art. But I will not abide you being dishonest with your guards and fighting each other, period, and by that I’m referring to what just happened in this car. You know better than that.”

They did, too, and they finally settled down with matching guilty expressions.

“Sorry. Do we have to pay you back the three thousand, dad?” Sam asked nervously.

“No. You’re both getting paddled after you apologize to Benny, and that will be the end of it. Dean, are you okay?” asked John after a moment, when it appeared his oldest had completely tuned out and was in his own world again.

Dean didn’t look up. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said miserably.

“What caused you to panic?”

“I didn’t panic.”

Sam answered for him. “There was a guy following us around and taking pictures.”

“What? _Inside_ the library, you mean?”

“No, outside. He was stalking us through the windows.”

John was not surprised to hear this at all. Goddamned paparazzi.

“Dean, I’m going to ask you one last time. Are you ok now, or not? Sam, you be quiet.”

“No, dad. I’m not okay. I’m a freakin’ basket case and you know it.”

 _Damn it._ “Alright. So you did panic. It’s okay. Anything you need from me before we head home?”

Dean shrugged yet again, almost appearing not to answer. But then he blurted out angrily, “For the hundredth time, I need you to quit your fucking job! Then I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit in the first place.”

John flinched and nearly snapped back, but managed to keep his cool.

“Hop out of the car, Sam, and get in with Garth. Have him take you home.”

“Yes, sir,” responded Sam with a stunned expression as he climbed out.

“Yeah, go home and cry to your stuffed animals, Sammy,” Dean muttered.

“ _Dean!”_  John softened his tone and looked down at his anxious youngest son. “We’ll talk later. Go.”

Sam nodded, chin quivering, as he turned away.

“I want to go home now,” Dean said quietly, still not looking at his father.

“We’re going. Just waiting on a receipt. Did you take your anxiety medicine today?”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Listen up. I’ve made a decision. You’re going to counseling, and no amount of protesting is going to make me change my mind. So don’t start. And I’m going to ask Gabriel if you and Sam can homeschool with his kids. It will take you out of the spotlight a little. We’ve talked about it before, and you didn’t seem against the idea.”

“I’m not against it at all,” Dean replied. There was nothing he wanted more, actually, and it upset him that he wasn’t already homeschooled. “You should know that considering I’ve asked you about it a million times, but you never listen because you don’t care.”

“Settle down, Dean,” John replied mildly, hoping Dean would shut the hell up before he took things too far.

“It’s true. You never listen to me and only pretend to care how I feel. Sam doesn’t care, either. The only person who is always nice to me is Uncle Cas. Forget home school, I want to go back to boarding school so I don’t have to put up with this shit.”

“If you don’t calm down immediately, we’re going to have a problem.”

“You’re already the problem, dad!”

Dean suddenly burst into tears, and John got out of the car in disgust. Amara was just starting to walk back towards the group, and he waited patiently for her to reach him and hand him the receipt.

“Here you go, sir. Again, I’m so very sorry for what I said on the phone.”

“Who was the artist of the piece they broke?” John asked out of curiosity.

“The original founder of the library, actually. He died last year.”

John felt extra horrible all of a sudden. “Oh, shit. I mean...forgive me. I can’t express how sorry I am. When I return home I’ll make a donation to the library in his memory.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

“Sure. Uh. Have a good evening if you can, I guess?” He cringed at his own awkwardness. “I’m sorry. I mean well.”

“I know,” Amara replied with a thin smile. “Your sons are still being banished from our library for one year, though. Have a good evening, too...if you can.” She winked flirtatiously, gave a little shimmy, and then walked away.

John blanched, then glanced aside at Benny, who was clearly shocked as well, but in an entirely different way altogether.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they stared at the departing woman. “I will kill you where you stand, I swear it.”

“Might be worth it, boss,” he replied dryly.

Garth had gotten back into the car abruptly and was all but writhing in silent hysterics.

“Traitors, the lot of you,” John declared with good humor as he turned away. “Let’s go.”

“Dad,” blurted Dean as his father reappeared in the SUV. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“We’ll talk later.” Dean nodded and went quiet, so John looked at Benny through the rearview mirror as the man got in the car and shut the door. His eyes were sparkling.

“You alright there, Chief?”

There was a strangled chuckle, and then a gravely formal reply. “Yes, sir, I’m fine. Home?” he asked.

“No. Let’s stop by Castiel’s house. But first pull through the Shake Shack so I can use the restroom and Dean can get some food.”

\-------------

**Shake Shack**

“Good afternoon, John,” answered a very surprised Castiel. John hadn’t called him in almost two weeks, and Cas was starting to think he never would hear from him again.

“Are you home?”

“Yes...you called me on my house phone, remember?”

John was in a locked restroom by himself, but he still lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “Right, sorry. Dean really wants to see you. We had a bit of a blowup today. I feel extremely awkward asking, but if you don’t have any plans, can he come over for a bit and play with Angela?”

“Yes. You shouldn’t feel awkward, John. He’s been over here plenty of times before. May I ask what the blowup was about, so I’m prepared in case he mentions it?”

“No, it’s best if I don’t say anything. Let’s just say he’s finally entered his _I hate you_ stage, so...it’s been rough.”

“I see. Well, I’m here, so whenever you want to send him over. I don’t really have any food for him or anything though, haven’t been to the store in a while.”

“That’s okay. We’ll drop him off. I’m ten minutes away. Thanks, Cas. I owe you.”

\----------------------

**Castiel's House**

Castiel was waiting outside when Benny pulled up the drive. There were, surprisingly, no cars out front at all, which meant the press had become tired of waiting for something exciting to happen at the Novak house. So Dean quickly jumped out, excited to hear Angela barking madly from inside the house. He hugged Castiel briefly and then ran inside.

John hadn’t been planning to get out of the car, but Dean had left all the food behind, so other than asking Benny to do it there was no other choice. He grabbed everything and climbed up to the porch.

“Hey,” he said, somewhat shyly, unsure of what else to say, and it wasn’t because he was upset or anything. It’s just that Cas was wearing a very nice suit and looked as though he’d been at some kind of professional function. _Or a job interview._ And John didn’t want to give away that it was the very first thing he noticed.

“Nice to see you, John.” He looked over to the car and nodded with a slight smile at Benny. “I was upstairs in the balcony at church with Gabriel this morning. We didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh, good. So now I don’t have to yell at you guys for not going. Um.” He handed the bags over and the tray of drinks. “You said you didn’t have food, so we got your favorite burger with onion rings. And a root beer float, of course.”

“Oh.” Castiel looked puzzled as he took the tray and drinks. “That’s….really nice. Thank you. Can you open the door for me, please?’’  
  
John opened the screen with one hand and the front door with the other, but stayed on the porch. Castiel did not invite him in, for which he was grateful. The last thing he needed right now was more awkwardness.

After setting everything down in the kitchen, Cas came back to the front door. “Thanks so much, John. That was thoughtful. How long do you want him to stay? He’s already out in the backyard throwing Angela’s frisbee. Seems very cheerful.”

“Yeah, well that’s because he’s away from me. I really appreciate this and I’ll make sure he doesn’t overstay his welcome. Just kind of discreetly call me when you’re ready for him to leave.”

“I can’t,” Castiel replied evenly. “You blocked my numbers.”

John flushed. “Ah. Right. Um.” He took his phone out. “Let me fix that.” He scrolled through the settings for a few long awkward moments before realizing he had no clue how to unblock a contact. Castiel realized it shortly after he did and held his hand out.

“Here, I’ll do it.” He took the proffered phone and quickly completed the task without any trouble, then handed it back.

“I have to leave for dinner in two hours, but that should be long enough. Angela gets exhausted pretty quickly at her age.”

“Right, um...where’s your guard?” John had noticed the little BMW wasn’t in the driveway.

“I gave him the week off.”

“Without a replacement? You can’t do that, Cas. You should _never_ be without a guard. We’ve talked about this before, about how it blatantly violates our security policies.”

“Well,” said Castiel with a small smile as his eyes swept up and down the street. The very empty street. “It’s not like I have anyone after me right now.”

John tried to ignore the simmering anger that suddenly overtook him. “I don’t care. You’re getting another guard and that’s the end of it. I’m sending Rufus over as a substitute, and you’re going to take him everywhere with you. This isn’t negotiable.”

“Very well.” Castiel wasn’t smiling now, but he didn’t protest. After all, with Dean in his house he should damned well have a guard standing by. John called Rufus, who said he would be over in two minutes.

“How was Maui?” John asked abruptly as he hung up the phone, trying to shake off his all-too familiar irritation with Castiel’s disregard for his own safety.

“I wouldn’t mind spending more time there, let’s just put it that way.”

“Hmmm. Gabriel comes back to work Tuesday, as you know.”

“Yes.”

“I…” John hesitated, not wanting to force Castiel into a conversation he didn’t want. But he was desperate for someone to talk to. “Look, I, umm…”

“Come inside, John,” Cas said abruptly as he turned away.

“No, I don’t want-”

“John,” repeated Castiel with more urgency. “Come inside. _Now,_ if you don’t mind.”

John was puzzled at first, but then he turned to follow Castiel’s glance down the street.

“Oh, fuck. Really?” The press were coming; John and Cas knew the cars anywhere. It was always the same group who arrived first on a scene, and within seconds the four cars were lined up across the street with telephoto lenses at the ready. The screened-in porch wasn’t enough to completely block them, so John went in and closed the door behind him.

“God, I’m sorry. Thought we got away from them at the drive thru.”

“It’s alright. They were following Rufus, I think.” Castiel waited a minute and then stepped back outside to unlock the screen door and let the man in. He nodded and then silently started to make his rounds about the house, keeping one eye out the front windows all the time.

Castiel had the news running in the background in the living room, and John happened to glance at it out of the corner of his eye and saw a very familiar sight. Sure enough, it was live video from somewhere outside Castiel’s house. He dashed over to the remote and turned up the volume.

 _“-question of what happens when Gabriel Angel returns to work Tuesday, and whether or not the trust can ever be regained between them. As you can see, John Winchester clearly doesn’t hold too much of a grudge against Mr. Novak, at whose house he arrived with his son a short time ago after stopping first at the Shake Shack on Pico and Westwood for some burgers and root beer floats, just in time to watch the big game. We’ll stay on the scene and go live again when we obtain more information about their dramatic incident at the library only an hour ago-_ ”

John muted it angrily as the unexciting footage of him entering the house with bags of food was shown, and then shown yet again.

Castiel looked at him askance. “ _Dramatic incident at the library_..?”

“Fuck. There are cameras hidden in the trees outside your house. Probably at mine, too. I’m starting to get why Dean is having a meltdown every day over this shit.” He sat down on the couch and grabbed his float, inhaling almost all of it in one fell swoop before he realized he was making himself at home way too easily. He jumped to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I...it’s been a day. Can I sit for a minute?”

“Of course. Eat, please. At the table though, if you don’t mind.”

At that moment Dean came bouncing in through the sliding glass door, Angela close on his heels. “Uncle Cas, the frisbee is stuck on the roof of the poolhouse. I’m really sorry. Does she have another-”

He stopped abruptly as he caught sight of the television. John snatched up the remote again and turned it off, swearing under his breath as he did so.

“Dean-”

“Why is your house on the news?” Dean almost shrieked at Castiel. “Is it because we’re here?”

“Yes, they’re out front right now,” said Castiel calmly, throwing a look at John that shut him up instantly. “Dean, settle down, and look at me,” Cas commanded in a surprisingly authoritative tone as he reached for the boy and took a hold of his wrists, clasping them to his own chest while walking over to the dining room table at the same time, all but dragging Dean alongside him. John watched in fascination, far too surprised to say anything.

Castiel held fast to Dean as he sat. Dean tried to wriggle away once and then stopped. “Breathe. Look at me. You’re inside and they can’t see through the walls. You’re safe. Are you breathing? Steady.”

“I can’t.” Dean was on the very edge of a panic attack. “Why are they following us everywhere?”

“Because they make lots of money selling pictures of your famous dad,” Castiel answered matter-of-factly. “It’s their job to take pictures. They aren’t out to hurt anyone. It’s a paycheck. Are you listening? You really need to steady your breathing or you’re going to pass out.”

“I don’t know how,” Dean gasped after a moment, and Castiel instantly moved his hands from Dean’s wrists to put one on his lower back, and one over his diaphragm, keeping him standing in place with a tight grip, at perfect eye level where he was sitting on the chair. John stood watching, frozen by the couch, remote still in hand.

“Concentrate. Count with me. Breathe in from deep down here (he patted his back) for four counts, then out for four from here (patting his belly).” Dean tried, messed it up, then tried again. “Good. But you’re still breathing too high. Take it lower. One more time. Stop looking at the television, it’s off. Look at me. Now breathe in for five counts, and out for five. Okay, again and then we’ll move on to six. Dean, _stop_ looking at the TV. Close your eyes.”

The repeated this exercise for quite some time until they got to ten. To John’s utter shock, his son was so deeply focused on his breathing tasks that he’d apparently forgotten about everything else around him. Castiel had removed his hands after eight and let Dean do the rest on his own.

After ten Castiel stopped counting, and Dean’s eyes fluttered open and locked on to Cas. He did not look towards the television. John still dared not move for fear of breaking the spell, but his thoughts were racing in ten different directions.

Watching Dean melt under Castiel’s calm ministrations vividly brought back the deep affection, admiration, and warmth for the man that John had been forcefully pushing out of his mind since the incident on Christmas day. There was absolutely no question that the next thing John was going to do was to let Castiel know he was completely forgiven, and then ask for forgiveness in return. Beg, if needed.

Dean broke the silence suddenly. He was perfectly calm. “Thank you. Are they still out there?”

Castiel swallowed hard. “Probably. Let’s find out. John, turn on the television again.”

John nearly dropped the remote in his surprise. “Uh, no. Let’s not do that.”

“Turn it on,” commanded Castiel, and John only hesitated a second before complying. To his horror, there was the house, still...and the video was focusing on Benny sitting in his car, doing literally nothing of any interest whatsoever. John glanced anxiously at Dean, who didn’t seem perturbed at all. In fact, he seemed amused.

“Why are they looking at Benny? He’s not even famous at all. I hope he doesn’t pick his nose. Can you turn the sound on, dad?”

This was where John put his foot down. “No.” He clicked off the television and threw a look at Cas that dared him to protest. “We’re all going outside with Angela. Together. We’re going to walk right up to their cars, talk to them, get their names, be friendly, let them take pictures of us, and then we’re going to come back and eat our cold burgers and melted shakes. Come on. Cas, harness up the dog.”

“Uh, John....”

John went to front door and put on his coat, then held Dean’s out for him.

“Come on, Dean. You can walk Angela. Cas? Harness, now please.”

Dean walked over and let his dad put his coat on him. Since Cas was moving so slowly, John picked up the harness and slipped it onto Angela, who was now carrying an enormous hot dog toy in her mouth. John opened the front door and stepped out, with Dean close behind him.

“Dad, I don’t like them. Why are we doing this?”

“Because I want them to stop harassing you and Sam, so we’re going to be friendly and try to make peace. All I want you to do is come with me and just say hello. You don’t have to do anything else. Can you do that?”

Dean nodded, tightening his grip on Angela’s leash. John heard Cas come out behind him and laid a hand on his son’s shoulder as they went down the porch stairs. “Okay. Just relax, buddy, we’ve got this. Just follow my lead.”

Angela immediately peed in the bushes, and John realized with a slight moment of panic that he hadn’t brought a bag. Castiel saw his expression. “She won’t poop again yet. By the way, John, you are insane for doing this.”

“Play along, Cas. We’re on live television. Smile.”

The trio - or quintet, rather, now that Benny and Rufus had scrambled to join them - crossed the street. John could feel, but not hear, the cameras clicking constantly as they went up to the lead car. He kept a hand tight on Dean’s shoulder when he thought he was about to bolt.

“Steady, Dean,” he murmured as he gestured for the man to roll down his window. The man did, but he looked confused and not a little scared.

“Good evening. I’m John, this is my son Dean, and this is Castiel. We noticed you’re taking pictures of us, so we thought it was only proper to come say hello and introduce ourselves. How’s your day been?”

“Uh….fine?” The man set his camera down on the passenger seat. “My name is John, too. What’s the dog’s name?”

“Angela,” answered Castiel. “She’s friendly,” he added unnecessarily as Angela stood up on her back legs and poked her head in the car while chomping down excitedly on her hot dog. The toy’s squeaks practically drowned out what John said next.

“Look, you’re welcome to take pictures of Castiel and me, but I want to request that you stop following my sons around until they’re famous on their own accord. I can’t imagine you make too much money off of photos of them, do you?”

The other John was rendered a bit speechless. “Well, about $50 each, a couple times a month, maybe? Not too much.”

“And how about my pictures?”

“A lot more,” the man admitted nervously. “Hundreds.”

Angela dropped the toy in his lap, and he picked up the sloppy mess and handed it back to her with a disgusted look on his face. John smiled beatifically.

“Well, I will give you $1,500 to stop taking and selling pictures of my boys for an entire year. In return I’ll invite you to a private event where you will make even more money off me. I trust you to honor our agreement at all times. Here’s my card so you can contact me about receiving payment. Nice to meet you, and have a good day, sir. Dean, come on. Take the toy away from her.”

Cas was horrified as they walked to the next car. “John, what the hell? You can’t pay off photographers like that! And giving them your cell number, too? What the hell are you doing?”

“Settle down, Cas. It’s my secondary cell number that’s always dead. Guess I need to find the charger now. Dean, you doing okay?”

“Yeah."

They walked up to the next car repeated the process. That photographer congratulated Dean warmly on getting his license, and told a funny story about his own daughter getting hers. They chatted for some time, and Dean was delighted to pet his English Pointer that was now poking his head out of the rear window.

By the time they were to the fourth car, two more cars had rolled up. John hit all of them, and John again offered to pay them all off. Cas was still in shock and desperately trying to halt the proceedings, while Dean was still extremely nervous and shy, but they did the best they could to get through it. Dean even managed to have a full-on conversation with the last man, whose son he happened to know from school.

When they walked back to the house, John made them all turn around and wave to the cars before heading back inside.

Castiel was visibly furious, but he kept his tone carefully in check. “Hey Dean-o, do you mind me taking your dad away to talk to him for a minute? You can go ahead and eat without us.”

Dean was beaming and very visibly relaxed. “Sure. Can I use your microwave?”

“Of course. John? I would like to show you something in my office, please. It’s rather urgent.”

John had never seen Castiel so angry before, and it was quite disorienting to be the one on the opposite end of the wrath that occasionally existed between them.

“Of all the stupid things you’ve ever done. Are you _trying_ to get yourself jailed?”

“I didn’t break any laws, Cas-”

“You most certainly did, and you know it. Bribery, for starters, and setting yourself up in the future for other accusations. Doing all of this on live television, to boot. What the hell are you thinking?”

John stayed calm despite the bitter novelty of being yelled at by his subordinate. “First of all, those live cameras have no microphones, so nobody besides us heard me. Secondly, I’m actually going to make them sign a contract before I pay them. All above board and legit. Then, I’m going to work on getting laws passed that prohibit photos of minors being sold for profit. So are you going to calm down, or are we going to have a problem here?”

“We already have a problem! You’re totally out of your mind. All but one of those men work for the Opportunists, and you’re actually going to literally sign a contract with them and allow them access to you that even our own photographers don’t have? You are giving money to these vultures and actually trusting their word? Have you completely gone out of your senses?”

“Castiel, that’s enough,” John warned.

“I agree with you there, John. This is definitely enough. I was already nervous about everything you’ve been up to lately, but I trusted you to at least have some common sense. This proves you don’t, so I’m done. You’ll have my resignation letter this evening by email, and by courier at the office tomorrow. I want you and Dean to leave my house immediately.”

John suddenly felt like the floor was collapsing beneath him. He could hardly breathe, and his chest began to burn fiercely. It seemed almost impossible to speak, but he managed somehow.

“Wait. Cas, please. You’re blowing this out of proportion. At least let me explain. Dean-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Castiel looked like he was about to throw a punch as he crossed around his desk and pulled the office door open.

John swallowed hard, feeling stinging in his eyes. He was _not_ going to cry, no matter what.

“I’ll go, but Cas...please don’t kick Dean out, too. He did nothing wrong.” _God damn it,_ he cussed at himself as a stray tear escaped before he could catch it.

“You both have to go,” replied Cas, ice cold. “Also, don’t even bother blocking my number again, because you’ll never get another call from me.”

“Okay. I’m sorry you’re upset with me. I get it. But I did what I had to do for my son.” He strode over to the window and yanked open the blinds. “Look.”

Every single photographer’s car was gone. Castiel was unimpressed. “There will be more in five minutes. All you did was put a band-aid on a gunshot wound. Again, thank you for the food. Now if you don’t mind, kindly let yourself out of the house for the last time and lock the door behind you. I’m going upstairs.”

John didn’t respond, he just watched him leave and then stood there a minute to collect himself before going back in the dining room to gather up his wallet and keys.

“Is Uncle Cas okay, dad?” Dean said between bites of his burger.

“I think so. Where’d he go?”

“Said he had to go upstairs for a while.”

John cleared his throat. “I think Cas isn’t feeling well but he doesn’t want to admit it to us. What would you think if we just went ahead and let him rest? I’ll clean up all this trash while you finish your burger.”

Dean seemed disappointed, but he didn’t argue. John carefully picked up every piece of trash and threw it all into the composter, including Castiel’s uneaten southwest burger and onion rings. Then he drained the root beer float mush into the sink, cleaned the sink, and took off Angela’s harness to hang it up in the closet. The remote needed to go back on top of the television, so he did that, too.

The house was perfectly spotless now. Everything was done. No need to stick around anymore.

“Okay. Say goodbye to Angela, and let’s head out.”

Dean stood up and threw his wrappers in the trash.

“Hey, Dean?” asked John, still feeling in total shock by what had just happened with Cas. “I’m so very proud of you for how you handled those photographers. You did good. Thanks, kiddo.”

“Sure, dad. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. They were nice. Except for the third guy.”

John smiled a little. “Yeah, he’s a pain in the ass. But he won’t follow you anymore. None of them will.”

Dean didn’t seemed wholly convinced. “There are so many more, though.”

“Then I better start working on them, too. Come on, let’s go.”

John couldn’t help but feel an enormous sense of loss as he looked around Castiel’s house for the very last time. Dean went out first and headed straight to the car, leaving John standing in the entryway. He shut off the light, then heard Cas coming down the stairs.

Against every instinct he had to flee and follow Dean into the SUV, he turned the light back on and waited with heart pounding.

Castiel turned the corner, stopping in surprise at seeing him still standing there.

“Did you forget something?” he asked in a totally normal tone, as if he was asking for the time. He had changed into his running clothes and was clearly on the way to the gym downstairs.

“Yeah. I mean, no. Sorry, I’m right now, kind of having a hard time believing this is happening.”

“Please leave your copy of my house key on that sideboard,” Castiel said calmly, nodding to the piece of furniture in question. Without further adieu, he turned and went down the stairs to his basement. John stood there frozen for a few moments, then removed the key in question from his keychain and set it down with a soft metallic sound. He couldn’t bear to look around the house one more time, so he closed his eyes as he shut the lights off and locked the door behind him.

He opened his eyes to the sight of seven more press cars lined up across the street, exactly as Castiel had predicted.


	26. Viva Las Vegas

* * *

**Winchester Manor**

**Same day**

It seemed to Dean that an eternity or two had gone by in the spare room while he awaited his turn for a reckoning, stomach twisting into several varieties of knots the entire time. Surely Sam wasn’t getting it _that_ bad? They must have been talking a lot, that’s all. Hopefully lots and lots of talking. Or maybe his dad just wanted him to suffer, since he knew how much waiting like this tormented his oldest son.

He pulled his jacket tighter and shivered again, then sat on the bed and pulled the heavy blanket around him like a protective barrier and wedged himself against the headboard. He didn’t move when his father finally appeared half an hour later and led the still-sniffling Sam to a corner. When John looked at him and jerked his head toward the door, Dean silently rose, folded the blanket back up, and trudged behind him to the study.

“Hey. Sorry it took so long. Sam had a really hard time getting through it.”

 _Oh god._ Dean glanced at the clock and was astonished to see only 45 minutes had passed since he was last in this room.

John continued, “I went really easy on him, don’t worry. He was just very emotional about the whole thing and needed a lot of time to settle down and talk. He’s very worried about you, you know.”

Dean swallowed hard, but said nothing.

“Relax, son. You’ve got yourself all wound up because you’ve been waiting, that’s all. If I’d known he was going to take so long, you would have been up first. Anything you’d like to say?”

Dean’s tongue felt very thick all of a sudden. “I’m sorry. For everything I did and said today, and...”

“I know. It’s okay. The only thing you’re being punished for is fighting with Sam in the car and not being honest with Benny, so let’s get this over with. If you promise me you’ll behave, I’ll go easy on you, too.”

Dean nodded, and walked up to the desk to take position. “I promise, dad. Thank you.”

\-------

After it was done, John took Dean back to the spare room and dropped him off at the opposite corner from Sam with a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder.

“I’ll be back in an hour. You know the rules. No talking, no fidgeting.”

Two minutes later, Sam tentatively asked from his corner if Dean was okay.

Dean’s nerves prickled instantly, his irritation at Sammy’s unflattering description of his panic attack rushing to the forefront again.

“I’m fine, Sammy. Heard you were acting like a little bitch, though. What a surprise.”

Sam did not rise to the bait. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah? Well I don’t care what you think, so shut up and go break another sculpture.”

_Silence._

Ten seconds later the door opened and Dean was unceremoniously yanked out of the corner by his very angry father.

“Alright. I’ve officially had it with you. Come on.”

“Dad!” Dean pleaded in shock as he was bodily pulled down the hall to John’s study. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t remember that I can monitor every room in the house? Really? How dare you make such a vicious comment to your brother at a time like this.”

 _Oh, shit._ ”I’m so sorry, dad. I have-”

“Pants down and hands on the desk. Now.”

Dean’s entire body went numb in a flash. His dad had never believed in spanking on the bare, although Sammy got it once when he was eight for starting a fire in the backyard that took out several hedges and a lemon tree. The memory of the trauma his brother suffered on that awful day had haunted Dean ever since.

John took off his belt as he spoke with the deadly calm that indicated he was moments away from exploding.  Dean backed away towards the door.

“ _Dean_. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

“Worse?” he cried. “How could I possibly make this worse?”

\--------

 _Everyone hates me_ , John moped as he made himself some tea in the kitchen after returning the inconsolable Dean to the spare room. Maybe Charlie didn't hate him, or a few people at the office, but there was far more to life than work friends. There also wasn’t much to life at all without Castiel. The thought of going even one full day with him as an enemy was too much to bear.

So John drank his tea, ate a Moon Pie, then took a shot of whiskey and prepared himself for a fight. Castiel’s phone rang only once, so John hung up and tried again, thinking it was a bad connection. This time, it didn’t ring at all and went to a generic recording. The third time, too. Puzzled, he started to dial a fourth time, then stopped.

Castiel had blocked his number. The realization hit him like the old cliche of stepping on a rake and getting smacked in the face. In disbelief he went to Dean’s room and called him from his son’s cell. Certainly Uncle Cas wouldn’t block Dean-o, too?

“We’re sorry. Your call cannot be completed to this number. Goodbye.”

Then he tried from Sam’s phone, and then Benny’s, and then the house’s landline. All of them were blocked.

_Fuck…_

He went back to his study and pulled up the live feed from the spare room to check on Dean. The boys were talking again.

“...wasn’t your fault. I’m so sorry, Sammy. Are you even listening?”

“Yeah.”

“You forgive me?”

“Yeah, but only if you shut up so we don’t get in trouble again.”

Dean left his corner and went to lay down on the bed - on his stomach, naturally - and started to sob again. John got up and activated the intercom switch on the wall, keeping his eyes on the video feed.

“I’m giving you ten seconds to get back in the corner. Ten. Nine. Eight.”

Dean rose up and dragged himself back into place.

“Thank you.”

John slammed down the intercom switch, sighed heavily and rubbed his temples for a few minutes. He then called Gabriel, feeling absurdly relieved when he actually picked up.

“Hey, Gabe. Got a minute? Or thirty?”

“I’m in the middle of dinner, but I can talk for a few minutes. What’s up, boss?”

“Great, thanks. It’s been a day, man. I can’t even tell you. Have you spoken to Castiel recently, by chance?”

“No, I haven’t spoken to him today.”

“Okay, well...I’m not going to beat around the bush, so here goes. Castiel is quitting because of me. I could really use your advice on how to change his mind.”

Gabriel nodded. “Oh, I see. Honestly, John, this isn’t the best time or place for that kind of conversation. Can I call you in about an hour, maybe around 9pm?”

John tried not to let the disappointment come through in his tone. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be up.”

He then impulsively called Rufus, even knowing it could easily lead to another fight with Castiel if he wasn’t careful.

“Hey, are you with Castiel?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

“Yes, sir, as ordered.”

“Good. Where are you guys?”

“Yamashiro, but we’re leaving shortly. He’s just now paying the bill.”

“Okay, thanks. I just wanted to make sure he’s alright, since I haven’t heard back from him regarding something urgent we had discussed today.”

Rufus said quickly, “Sir, I don’t know if you will hear back, to be honest. He’s drunk.”

John thought he hadn’t heard correctly. “He’s...he’s what?”  
  
“Drunk. _Really_ drunk, actually. He told me not to take any calls from you, but you’re the boss, so  I picked up anyway.”

“Yeah, good choice. Thanks Rufus. Who are you guys with?” It was a highly inappropriate question, and they both knew it. Rufus had every right not to answer, and John was about to take it back before his guard answered anyway.

“Gabriel and his family, and some of their friends from out of town.”

 _Gabriel_ and his family.

 _Gabriel,_ who just told him less than ten minutes ago that he hadn’t spoken to Cas today.

 _Gabriel…._ lied to him.

John felt like an arrow had been shot through his chest.

“Okay, great. That’s good, I guess. Just get Cas home safely, then. I won’t tell him we spoke, of course. Talk to you tomorrow.”

He left his study and went straight to his bedroom, shutting his phone completely off and quietly locking the door behind him.

He forgot all about the boys, who were still obediently standing in their corners when he raced back to the spare room more than three hours later to release them.

 ----------------

**Tuesday, January 11**

For the first time in his life, John called out sick from work when he wasn’t actually sick. It was 8:00am and the boys were eating breakfast when he finally got dressed and ventured down the stairs.

Sam was startled to see him, and so was the chef, who quickly whipped up another plate for his boss. He took it gratefully and sat down at the table across from Sam.

“Dad? Why aren’t you at work? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Sammy. Working from home today to catch up on some projects.”

“Oh.”

John was determined to eat his meal in silence, but Sam had other ideas.

“Are you and Uncle Cas really fighting, dad?” Sam asked, and John nearly choked on his sausage as he eyed Dean, who looked sheepishly down at his eggs.

“None of your business,” he replied sternly.

Sam looked liked he was about to cry. “Sorry, was just trying to make conversation. Your phone’s ringing.”

Michael was calling. John sent it to voicemail. Just as he did that, he noticed a new email notification from Gabriel. Unable to resist temptation, he clicked on it even though he knew he’d regret it.

“John, what’s going on? I waited all night for you to call me back last night. Where are you this morning? Thanks - Gabe.”

John deleted it, then scrolled backwards through his emails while his heart pounded like a bass drum. Surprisingly, the promised resignation letter from Castiel was nowhere to be found. He scrolled through three times just to make sure.

Nothing. What the hell did _that_ mean?

“Sam, run up to my sitting room and see if Castiel’s truck is in his driveway.”

The boy complied instantly, and John waited for his footsteps to fade before he set his fork down and looked at Dean.

“What did you tell Sam, exactly? Be honest. I’m not mad.”

“That I tried to call Uncle Cas last night but he blocked my phone,” Dean responded quietly, eyes on his plate. “The house phone is blocked, too. And Sam’s cell.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What did you do?” Dean looked absolutely devastated.

John was at least glad the poor kid wasn’t blaming himself, but there was very little he could say to make this any better. “Can’t say, but I’m working on a resolution. Please be patient.”

“What about Gabriel? When you are going to ask if Sam and I can homeschool with his kids? The new semester starts next week.”

_Oh god…._

Sam ran back down the stairs, thankfully saving John from having to answer that question. “Dad! Dad!!!”

“What the hell, Sam?”

“Angela’s loose! I just saw her run down the street all by herself! Where’s Uncle Cas?”

“Fuck,” blurted John, and he and Dean jumped up and ran to front door, with Sam close behind. Sure enough, Angela was racing down the middle of the street with her leash in her mouth, looking as gleefully joyous and wild as any dog had ever looked. All three of them ran out to catch her, but she dodged them and kept going straight towards Olympic Blvd.

“Boys, back in the house. Now.”

John jumped into the Impala without a second thought and roared down the street by himself, which he took a moment to appreciate. It was nice to not have guards and drivers clinging to him hand and foot. He picked up the phone and called Benny.

“Hey. Take an SUV down to Olympic and go...right. I’ll go left. Castiel’s dog is on the loose and we’re trying to catch her. Yes, I’m by myself. Hurry. Gotta go.”

John drove around for almost two hours with absolutely no sign of Angela. His phone had long died, so he had almost given up until he turned into a park and saw three adults trying to corner her on a playground. The Impala roared to a stop at the foot of the swings and he jumped out.

“Angela, come here, baby girl! Come on."

Angela spied him, and with a burst of energy she snatched up a tennis ball from the ground and ran straight at him. He yanked onto her harness and held on for dear life. It promptly snapped in his hands, and she almost got away again before he grabbed her by the tail and wrapped a strong arm around her torso. The three ladies were clinging on to each other now, squeeeing and staring at him in awe.

“John Winchester! Oh my goodness!” they exclaimed happily. John ignored them long enough to get Angela in the car (making sure all the windows were rolled up and the back doors locked so she couldn’t escape again). Then he went over to them and shook their hands.

“Thank you so much, ladies. Thank you very much. We would have been devastated to lose her. I really appreciate your help.”

One of the ladies had a camera, so John obliged them by taking photos with each of them, and then the three of them wanted a picture with Angela, and then with the infamous Impala, too. He was desperate to get Cas’s baby back to him after secretly enjoying feeling like a total rockstar for a few minutes, and was relieved when they finally let him go.

A black SUV had pulled up behind him during the photo shoot. Benny and his sons, of course. John waved at them and then got in the car and headed for home, taking different sidestreets than usual because he wasn’t sure exactly how to get to Castiel’s house from the park, and Benny honked at him when he took a wrong turn. He quickly flipped a u-turn and went the other way, when suddenly he spotted Castiel across the street, climbing down a slope at a different park with Rufus a few feet behind him.

John pulled another U-turn, got honked at again by Benny, but ignored it and smoothly raced up an alley alongside the park to intercept the men.

Cas heard the Impala and stopped in surprise as John glided up next to him and rolled down the window. “I’ve got Angela, she’s fine. Hop in and I’ll drive you guys home.”

Castiel crossed in front of the car and leaned in the passenger side to reach back towards Angela. She dropped the tennis ball into the front seat and barked happily at him, then whined while he rubbed her ears and cooed at her.

“John, I can’t thank you enough. I don’t know what to say. I’ll walk her home from here, can you unlock the door?”

”Well, no...her harness snapped into pieces when I grabbed her, and I don’t know where her leash went. For an older dog, she’s really strong.”

“Yes. Do you have a spare leash in the trunk?”

He knew there were a few back there. Maybe three, plus a harness or two. “No, sorry. You can ride with me, or with Benny if you prefer.”

“I’ll ride with Benny. Thank you, John, so much. If you can just wait in the car for a minute when we get there, I’ll grab her other harness.”

“Yeah, of course.”

John watched Castiel climb in the SUV and felt his heart break almost as much as it had yesterday. He waved to let Benny pull in front of him and lead the way back to Castiel’s house. When they arrived, Castiel harnessed Angela in the backseat and took her inside with the boys and Benny, who were all delighted at the outcome of the chase. John knew he should leave, but Castiel’s truck blocked him from moving forward in the driveway and Benny’s SUV blocked him from backing out of it. Apparently he was expected to awkwardly wait in the car for everyone to decide the reunion was over.

And awkward, it was. Very. After a minute or two with no guard or sons in sight, he got out of the car and went to the front door. Castiel let him in without comment.

“Sorry Cas, we’ll get going. Dean, Sam, Benny. Everyone out. Back to the house." Then, quietly but sternly to his favorite guard: "You should have already been outside with me.”

“Sorry, boss, I actually thought you were coming in. I guess this makes us even for you taking off on me all alone two hours ago."

John fixed him with a ferocious glare. "Do you _really_ think it's wise to get smart with me right now?" he snapped, still keeping his voice low.

Benny stepped back a little, startled at John's unexpected reaction to what was intended to be a lighthearted remark. "Sir, I....I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to...forgive me."

John nodded and reluctantly let it drop. He would have docked a full day’s pay for any other guard who left him unguarded for any amount of time, never mind one who talked back to him like that, but he had put poor Benny through enough shit lately. It wasn't his fault John's life was miserable at the moment.

Everyone in his group suddenly departed at the same time, which left John face to face to Castiel at the door. He didn’t want to lose what might be his only chance to say something.

“I thought you were going to send me an email last night,” he blurted quickly.

Castiel ignored the remark completely and scooted past him through the doorway, then waved again at the boys and Benny as they got in the SUV. “Thanks guys. I owe you. Let me pull the truck out of the way for you.”

Cas climbed into his truck as John just stood there, somewhat dumbfounded and numb. He quickly came to his senses and got in the Impala, resisting the urge to angrily gun it across the perfect front lawn like Dean had done a couple weeks ago. He would never do it, but had to admit that it would be an incredibly satisfying experience right about now. He even found himself briefly envying his son for knowing exactly how it felt.

\---

When John got home he plugged his phone in at his desk and realized with a start that it was almost 10:30am. He had missed his daily call with Lucifer. Sure enough, there were three missed calls on his cell. But no messages from him; just one from Michael.

First things first, however. He hit the intercom button that connected to the security offices.

"Benny, report to my study on the double."

There was a longer pause than usual, then Benny's voice. "Yes, sir, on my way."

Less than a minute later the very subdued head of security arrived. He'd been reprimanded by John several times before for various minor breaches of policy, usually related to paperwork delays, but this was different. It was emotional, very personal. For that reason, Benny was incredibly nervous.

"Hey," said John quickly as he rose and came around to the front of his desk to lean against it. 

"Boss, I'm so very-"

"Correct, I'm the boss, so I'll do the talking. I owe you a seriously huge apology for the way I snapped at you. You didn't deserve it. I mean, nobody does, but especially not _you_. I'm a fucking idiot, and I'm really sorry. Wish I could take it back."

"Uh...well, thank you, sir, but you were right about me leaving you alone like that."

"Yes I was, and I expect that to never happen again.”

Benny swallowed hard. "It won't. And with respect, I fully expect you not to take off without a guard again, either. Especially with a dead cell phone. It nearly gave me a stroke trying to find you.”

“Deal. Sorry.” John reached out to shake his hand, and then patted him on the back as he walked him out. "Keep up the good work. I really need you more than ever right now."

John shut the door behind him, then raced back to his phone before Michael could slap his hands for not keeping to the call schedule. Then again, maybe that's what the voicemail was for. He didn't want to know.

“Lucifer, fuck, I’m so sorry. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been doing for the past two hours.”

“Let me guess. Chasing Castiel’s loose dog all around the city and catching him yourself at the park? You’re a true hero, Mr. Winchester.”

“Wha..what?” John stuttered, alarm prickling the hairs at the back of his neck. “How the _hell_ did you know that?”

Lucifer paused dramatically. “It was all over the news. There was a live feed of the pursuit, even aired here in Denver. Quite entertaining. You didn’t know?”

John forced himself to breathe deeply in order to clear away the sudden dizziness. _Fuck._ This was getting out of hand.

“Please tell me you’re joking. Because I won’t be able to go out in public any more after this.”

Lucifer paused again, and then laughed. “I’m sorry, John. Just messing with you. No, a young lady who took a picture with you sent the story into the newswire a few minutes ago and one of our Denver reporters forwarded it to a few of us. She thought it was cute. You _are_ a hero, you know.”

“I’m...holy shit. You are a _horrible_ person.” Relief washed over him like a waterfall, and against his will John found himself grinning at the absurd imagery of the whole fiasco being broadcast live. “You got me good, I admit it. Thanks for the heart attack. Jesus H Christ on a pogo stick.”

Lucifer cleared his throat. “Yeah. Speaking of heart attacks, I got a call from Michael on Friday. Why did you tell him that I asked you to say Ruby wasn’t a double agent?”

“Because I don’t want to lose my fucking job, that’s why,” John retorted defensively, all amusement over the dog chase instantly forgotten. “You should have never asked me that.”

“I asked you for a reason. You know how these things can be sometimes.”

“No, I don’t know. Because I don’t play games.”

 _Yeah...so says the chess grand master._  “Fine. Then I’m going to be perfectly upfront. We know Ruby was double, and we figured out what you’re up to as far as trying to frame me for her murder. I was trying to get Uriel to-”

John felt like screaming all of a sudden. “ _Frame?_ It’s not _framing_ when you’re actually guilty, Lucifer. The truth will come out soon enough.”

“No it won’t. Haven’t you read the FBI message this morning?”

John turned to his computer and quickly pulled up his email. “No. I’ve been a little busy playing reverse Lassie all morning with my chief of staff. Hang on.”

It was a press release blurb that had been sent to both parties in advance of an afternoon release:

_After reviewing all video footage available, as well as extensive forensic testing, we are unable to draw any clues as to the identity of the murderer. Ms. Ruby died from a gunshot wound to the head with an untraceable bullet. The case is now considered on hold until new evidence arises._

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” John said out loud, feeling his headache arising anew at the back of his head.

“No one is fucking kidding you. That was the FBI’s determination, which you _know_ I could not possibly influence.”

“Even so, you got away with it. Congratulations,” John offered bitterly.

“John, please. If you want to formally accuse me, do so. I'll be happy to prove it wasn't us. But I, for one, would prefer that this incident to be the last one in which we are foes. Think about it. We believe in a lot of the same things, and if our parties unite on those fronts there’s nothing that can stop us. We can still fight about the shit we disagree on, because that’s our job, but-”

“Wait, what? Are you on drugs?” John laughed out loud, not able to believe what he was hearing.

“No. I knew you were going to say that. Actually, I want to meet with you in person this Friday. You and me. Talk some shit out. We can’t keep going like this. You know that, right?”

 _Sounds like every single one of my conversations with Dean lately_ , John thought wryly.

“Yeah, I’ve...I know. I hear you, and I don't want to fight either. But Lucifer, you can't be serious. You know I don't trust you as far as I can throw you."

Lucifer cleared his throat again. “If you prefer, the three of us can meet to talk. I know Castiel is not a fan of mine, but his objectivity would be useful to both of us. Perhaps you should ask him for his opinion on this.”

John laughed again. “Holy shit. You are definitely on drugs if you think Cas is going to go for this. Can I have some of what you're having?"

There was a long pause from the other end of the line.

“I’m trying to make peace, John.”

“But I'm not. Go fuck yourself.”

John hung up and reached into his refrigerator for a bottle of whiskey. His phone rang almost immediately, and it was Lucifer. Of course. Knowing that Michael would slap his hand for not obeying the ten-minute rule, John reluctantly picked up.

“What now?”

“We still have five minutes, John.”

“Okay, I’ll sing you a song. What would you like to hear? Maybe _I Wanna Hold Your Hand_ by the Beatles?"

“Stop fucking with me, John. I just want you to ask Castiel if he thinks it's a good idea for us to meet. That's all. Start small. If he says no, I'll drop it."

John looked at the bottle of whiskey, but did not touch it. He felt severely depressed all of a sudden. “Yeah, well. I would, but we're not exactly on speaking terms right now."

“Oh.” Lucifer sounded puzzled rather than pleased, which was definitely a change. “Well, then we finally have something in common. I’m not speaking to Uriel at the moment, either.”

John sat up straighter, now highly invested in this surreal conversation. Lucifer and Uriel were thick as thieves, probably closer than even John and Cas. “Why are you telling me this? And why did I tell you that about me and Cas? I must be on drugs, too.”

Lucifer actually chuckled a little at that. “Please be serious, John. I know you don’t believe anything I say, but I would bet my life on anything you say. Your transparency is truly self-destructive. You should channel that trait into other things. Like cooperation with my party on issues that matter to all of us.”

“You aren’t kidding about the self-destructive part. What did Uriel do?” asked John, genuinely curious now, and all but forgetting he was speaking intimately to the person he hated most in the world.

“Ah, well. Let’s just say it’s a personality issue. What did Castiel do?”

“He didn’t do anything. I did. Also a personality issue. Wait, what the fuck? _Why_ am I even talking to you about this?”

“Because it’s lonely at the top, John. And we’re as ‘top’ as it gets. So...”

_Yeah, tell me about it...you have no fucking idea how lonely I am right now._

John felt his guard lowering even further, and for once he didn’t fight it. “Okay, so…you must realize I'm seriously doubting your motives are pure, right?”

Lucifer cleared his throat, and now his tone was full of irritation. “Okay, John. Let's get real. You want to talk about pure motives? Let's take a look at how many times the great John Winchester has totally screwed me over personally in the past few years in order to advance his own agenda. How much time do you have? Because we're definitely going to need more than ten minutes."

"I haven't-"

"You are a master of manipulation and domination, but you mask it all behind this facade of honesty and purity. And you do hide it well, I must admit. A great talent, light years ahead of me. So I guarantee you that I have far more reason to suspect your motives than you’ll ever have to suspect mine."

John was actually taken aback by this attack. Not that it wasn’t anything he didn’t already know...just that he didn’t know anyone else knew it.

"The difference between us, Lucifer, is that I use my _talents_ towards the greater good. You only care about yourself. And that's why I don't trust you. Are we done now?"

"It appears we have reached an impasse, so yes, I'm done. I still have one request. Don't tell anyone I’m having issues with Uriel. I shared that with you willingly in order to open a dialogue. Obviously I'm regretting it now, but what's said is said."

“No need. I won’t tell anyone.” John was actually surprised to realize he meant that. “I would say I trust you not to say anything about me and Castiel either, but that would be a lie. I fully expect to see it on the front page tomorrow.”

“You won’t. I’m sure your boys destroying priceless art at the library is a far more interesting story, anyway.”

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It wasn’t anywhere close to priceless, and I have the receipt to prove it. God. The shit we have to put up with from the paparazzi.”

“Yeah. I can’t wait for the news of my colonoscopy tomorrow to hit the wires. Look, this may not have been the most pleasant discussion, but I'm still glad we had it anyway. Thank you for your time. Shall we say 10am tomorrow for more pointless bickering, John?"

There was a very long pause while John looked at the newspaper on his desk that featured a photo of him and Castiel cutting a ribbon together at the new container port in San Pedro a few weeks back that was opening today. They were both smiling. Happy. Unaware of the impending disaster that was about to split them apart at the seams.

With equal amounts of hesitation and determination, John made the first of many decisions he would come to deeply regret in just four months' time.

“I’ll meet with you Friday, but not in Denver. Wheels down in Las Vegas at 9am. I’ll pick the meeting place and we’ll ride there together with my own guards and driver. That’s the _only_ way I’m agreeing to it. And you have my word there will be absolutely no tricks or games.”

“I’m not happy with those terms, to be honest. But I’ll do it,” Lucifer said in an annoyed tone.

“Good. Since it was your idea, I'll leave it up to you to clear it through Michael. Let me know what he says so I can make the arrangements.”

\----------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, poor John. Pushing everyone away from him and unable to acknowledge his own part in it all. He has only Lucifer for decent conversation at this point. Let's see where he goes from here....next chapter in a few days :)


	27. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

**Tuesday, Jan 11 - continued**

**Insurrectionists HQ**

(Gabriel’s first day back at work)

Charlie sat slumped in a booth in the cafeteria and pecked at her laptop listlessly, only intensifying her activity with a burst of energy as Gabriel appeared in the doorway and walked up to stand at her table. So much for trying to deter him from bothering her.

“Late lunch, huh?” he remarked with as small smile. “Got a minute?”

“4pm is still technically not dinner, so yes...lunch. I’m assuming this convo is appropriate for a public space?”

He looked around with his eyebrows furrowed. “There’s...nobody here, Charlie. Heard from John yet?”

“Not since he told me he wasn’t coming in. You?”

“No. I’m on his shit list again, so...”

“Why?” asked Charlie curiously, softening her attitude towards him a bit. “You said everything was fine yesterday.”

“It was. But...my first day back, and I haven’t heard a peep from him? And my phone is still blocked. He hasn’t answered my email. I wanted to tell him what happened last night with Castiel before he hears it from Rufus. But I think he already has. In that case, I’m toast.”

“One second,” Charlie interrupted as she pulled out her ringing cell. It was John, but she didn’t want Gabriel to know, so she cleared her throat and pitched her voice up cheerfully. “Good afternoon, this is Charlie. How may I help you?”

_“Charlie?”_

“Yes?”

_“Doesn’t sound like you. I’m guessing you have company. Hey, listen. I’m expecting a FedEx or UPS letter. Just wondering if it came.”_

“Not yet. Who is it from so I can keep an eye out?”

_“Umm. Castiel. No one else should be allowed to see it. Isn’t the last FedEx at like 7pm?”_

“No, 4:30. I’ll check and let you know.”

_“Thanks kiddo. Just so you know, I haven’t spoken to Gabriel yet, and I’m not ready to.”_

“Yes, I figured that out. Thank you.”

_“Call me back after 4:30.”_

Charlie hung up, carefully set her drink aside and closed the lid to her laptop, then motioned for Gabriel to sit down with her. “Okay, I’ll bite. What happened last night with Castiel?”

\----------

**Winchester Manor**

For what seemed like the tenth time, John erased his email to Castiel and started all over again. He had been composing it for almost two hours, and nothing sounded right. It was either too pandering, too desperate, or too cold. So after hanging up Charlie, he decided to go for a walk and went downstairs to the security office to find Benny, and was quite surprised to see Dean chatted animatedly with Lisa at her desk. He wasn’t allowed downstairs, and everyone knew it.

“Hey,” he said mildly to Dean, not wanting Lisa to feel uncomfortable. “When did you get back from the animal shelter? I didn’t hear the front door chime.”

“Maybe 15 minutes ago, sir,” he replied, a little shakily. “Sam is still at the beach clean-up.”

John nodded. “Okay. Go wait for me in my study.”

Dean’s eyes went wide, but he complied without hesitation. John then looked at Lisa, who stood up, calm as ever.

“Sir, he was just-”

“Next time he comes down here, you send him back up immediately or I’ll want to know the reason why. Are we clear? I’ve told you this before.”

She seemed to take on a sudden defensive posture, and John picked up on it immediately and cut her off before she could argue.

“I don’t want to hear anything but yes or no,” John said sternly.

“Yes, sir. But-”

John bristled and was just about to bark something at her when Benny walked in, obviously not realizing he would be interrupting anything.

“My apologies, boss,” he said, immediately turning to go back out.

“No problem, we’re done here.” John did not look at Lisa again as he left the office. Whatever he had been about to say would have done more harm than good, anyway. Sam was at the top of the stairs when he was on his way back to Dean.

“How was the beach clean-up, Sammy?”

“Good. But I got sunburned.”

“In January? Gotta love California. Go get cleaned up and rest. Dinner in 90 minutes.”

Dean was fidgeting madly as John entered the study and shut the door, immediately speaking as he walked around his oldest and sat down in his chair.

“You know the rule about going down into the basement. Tell me why you broke it.”

“I didn’t know you’d come downstairs at the same time.”

John sighed. “Dean, that’s not the point, and that was a piss poor job of avoiding the question. I don’t understand why you can’t just behave yourself and not break rules. It’s simple. Can you explain to me what I’m missing?”

“Yes, sir. You’re missing Lisa’s birthday.” He held up a pink envelope. “Sammy and I got her a card and I was about to give it to her. We signed it for you, too, because we knew you’d forget.”

John felt like throwing himself down the nearest laundry chute. _What an ass, John. Good job._

He collected himself quickly. “You were correct, I forgot. Thank you. But you can’t just choose when to obey rules or not. You did the wrong thing, for the right reasons. But it’s still wrong. Next time ask me. I would have said yes to this.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry,” Dean responded politely.

John eyed him carefully, sensing something he didn’t really like. “Are you feeling okay?”

_Other than not being able to sit down for the past 18 hours, you mean?_

John’s phone rang before Dean could respond, and he went to dig it out of his pocket. “Hang on, Dean. Yes, Charlie?”

_FedEx and UPS just came and there’s nothing from the person you’re waiting for. But something else did come, and you’re not going to like it. I’m in your office with the door closed._

“Jesus Christ, I don’t know if I want to hear this. Okay...what now?”

_We just received by courier a subpoena from Michael at the FBI. You have to turn over your phone records for the entire month of December._

“Mine? Like, _mine_ , personally?”

_Yes, sir. Home, office, cell. Within seven days._

John was not exactly stunned by this turn of events, considering everything that had happened in December. He was more curious than anything else, but his conscious was clear enough to keep him from being too alarmed.

“Alright. I’ll get on it tomorrow morning with Kevin. Thanks, Charlie. See you then.”

He turned back to Dean. “Okay, we’re done here. I need to make some calls.”

Dean held up the envelope again. “Sir, may I please take this downstairs to Lisa?”

“That’s exactly what you should have done in the first place - ask me. Yes. Go on, I’ll see you at dinner.”

Dean went, secretly glad for Charlie having interrupted his dad’s anger towards him and redirecting it somewhere else entirely.

John hit the intercom to Lisa’s office to tell her he was sending Dean down, then picked up the phone to check the hours-old voicemail from Michael.

_John, this is Michael in Philadelphia. You’re going to be getting a subpoena from me today in regards to your phone records for December. This is basically just to continue the investigation on Ruby, which I need to discuss with you in more depth. I also need to take a statement from you regarding a deal you allegedly made some photographers yesterday. Hoping you can come to Philadelphia on Friday morning. Call me back at your earliest convenience._

Fuck _._

 _“Hoping you can come”_ really meant “ _if you don’t come, your ass is grass_.” He was supposed to meet with Lucifer on Friday in Las Vegas, and this message was almost ten hours old. He cursed at himself for ignoring it earlier, because now it was almost 8pm in Philadelphia. He dialed Lucifer instead.

“Hey. Did you hear back from Michael about us meeting in Vegas on Friday?”

“Yes, but he said no. I was going to talk to you about it tomorrow on our call.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, he was very evasive about the whole thing. I’m in a meeting. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sorry. Bye.”

There was another new email notification from Gabriel. He set the phone down, then turned to his computer and opened it up.

_John - we really need to talk. Last night would have been better. Please call me tonight at your convenience. Anytime is fine. Thanks, Gabe_

John rapidly tapped back a snippy reply:

_I’m not available. I hope you enjoyed your dinner at Yamashiro last night. I’m certain Castiel did, too. Thanks, John_

Then he started a new email to Castiel:

_I did not receive your email last night, or your letter today. Please let me know if you’ve changed your mind. Thanks, John._

Just before he was about to end the work day, he noticed an email from Michael that he had missed, although it came in two hours ago.

_John - not sure if you got my voicemail from this morning. Let me know._

This was why being distracted by a runaway dog was never a good thing….

_Michael, I just picked it up. Sorry. I’ve been out of pocket most of the day due to illness. I will be there on Friday morning. What time? Thanks, John_

Then he reached down and turned his computer completely off, skipping the shut down process. He knew that would wreak havoc upon booting up next time, but he didn’t care. It would be just another irritation in a shitload of irritations for the week.

\------------------------------

**Opportunists HQ - Denver**

Lucifer stared at the subpoena for the second hour in a row, feeling the edges of his anger flare up yet again. Uriel was sitting in front of him, running through a minor checklist of weekly tasks.

“You still haven’t approved the new dress code policy, so HR is having a fit…..Boss? You ok?”

“I know,” Lucifer grumbled. “What the hell do you think Michael is looking for?”

“Don’t worry. You never called Gadreel. You’re fine,” Uriel said soothingly. “And I always called him on a secondary phone, so my records would be fine too, if they ever wanted to see them. Can we get back to the checklist?”

“No. It’s almost six o’clock. I’m done. So you’re certain Gadreel is never going to contact us again, right? It was enough money?”

“As I said, the amount we gave him was exactly what he demanded.”

“Fine. Then you don’t need that secondary phone anymore. Destroy it. Not safe to keep it around.”

Uriel swallowed hard, hoping Lucifer didn’t ask for it on the spot - because he didn’t have Gadreel’s number memorized. Yet. “Will do.”

“Where is it?”

“In my safe at home.” This was a lie; the phone was in the center console of his car.

“Okay. I’ll approve the dress code, even though I didn’t have time to read the whole thing. I’m sick of looking at it. We’re done, you can go.”

Uriel brushed aside his irritation at being dismissed so offhandedly.

Lucifer was still angry about their clash last Friday over Uriel’s decision to give Gadreel and extra two thousand dollars over what was promised, but what’s done was done. The money was paid. The man would be quiet, or else he knew the price he would pay.

Well...that's what Lucifer thought, anyway. Uriel was still congratulating himself for setting aside $3,000 for future payments to Gadreel.

\---------------

**Thursday, Jan 13**

**Insurrectionists HQ - Los Angeles**

John had managed to completely avoid Gabriel on Wednesday, having shut himself behind closed doors all day by himself. He had so much work to do that it was painful even making a task list, and something new was added every minute that caused him a new headache.

What was worse, though, was never hearing back from Castiel. John still had no idea what he was thinking or planning to do, but he was soothed by the fact that Rufus had reported Cas was spending all day in his office and otherwise acting normally since the big blowout.

Now it was Thursday morning, and he was due in Philadelphia in less than 24 hours. It was time for Gabriel’s reckoning, and John had reserved their most private conference room for the conversation in order to keep from intimidating the man by making him sit in one of his “electric chairs” for the duration of the dressing down.

John had woken up abruptly in the middle of the night and made the decision to fire Gabriel, and that was going to be the end of it. He just didn’t care anymore about keeping his two closest allies in his circle. Former allies, rather. It was self-destructive, peevish, and probably the wrong decision, and he knew it. But he would not abide dishonesty in his ranks. There was no choice.

Gabriel was waiting in the room when John entered, and had a big yellow pad in front of him with several pages of writing already on it. Clearly, he had thought through what he was going to say. But since he still had common sense to spare, he said nothing and waited for John to begin.

John sat down and took a sip of coffee. “Alright. Let’s get down to it. I know you were at Yamashiro with Castiel at the same time you told me you hadn’t spoken to him all day. I’m interested to hear how you’re going to defend yourself from what appears to be a big fat lie. Please proceed.”

Gabriel blinked, not expecting that cold open. John usually eased into conversations like this, no matter how angry he was. “Yes, sir. I’ll be equally as blunt in my response. I was not lying. We haven’t spoken since Sunday. He said nothing to me at dinner, and in fact, showed up already tipsy and distracted. When I asked him if he was okay, he took a seat at the other end of the table to prevent any conversation with me, and talked to my wife and her friends through all four courses, then paid the bill for everyone and left without so much as a goodnight.”

“Oh,” said John, feeling thrown totally off balance by this development. “That explains a lot.”

“And your call during dessert explained a lot, too. When you told me he was quitting, his behavior suddenly made sense. He was looking right at me when I was talking to you, so I didn’t want to say anything until we could talk privately.”

“I see,” replied John, with a mixture of relief and new areas of concern. “Has he blocked your phone calls, too?”

“No, but he’s ignoring them. Is my explanation sufficient, John? I realize you’ve been angry at me for two days, because I heard Rufus talking to you and put two and two together once you didn’t call me back. But of course I wasn’t going to put any of this in email.”

Gabriel was not defensive nor angry, to John’s satisfaction. He had understood what it looked like from the start. Gabe was going to be forgiving. Thank god...

John nodded, then breathed deeply a few times to calm his racing heart. _Count to four. In. Out for four._

“Yes, it’s sufficient. You’re correct that it would’ve been completely inappropriate to email that story. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain.”

“That’s alright. I’m used to it.”

_Ouch._

John sighed and found himself suddenly returning to his usual good humor. “Alright. I deserved that. Dean says the same thing. I haven’t received Cas’s resignation letter yet, or any response to my questions about it. The last time we talked was when he thanked me for catching his dog, but it seems far-fetched to hope he changed his mind. No pun intended. Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven, John. For treating me poorly, not for the dog pun - that was inexcusable. Let’s catch up later on all this business crap.”

“Sounds good. I’m really glad you’re back, Gabe. I’m going to sit in here for a while and make a few calls. Shall we have lunch before we start diving into the deeper stuff?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Gabe smiled a little and left the room, and both men went back to work with much lighter hearts.

\----------------------------

**Friday, Jan 14**

**Winchester Manor**

Dean had never felt so low in his life. He was still aching from the belt five days ago, Sammy hadn’t fully forgiven him for his mean comments, and worst of all...he woke up to learn his dad was traveling. John hadn’t even bothered to tell his sons where he was going, or when he would be back. Not even the guards left behind at the house knew where he was.

Not only that, he apparently hadn’t even asked Gabriel about the homeschool question. Come Monday, it was business as usual at the Crossroads school. Which meant photographers stalking him from the fences, bullying from classmates jealous of his dad’s money, and most lunchtimes spent with gloomy Sam.

He got dressed and picked up the keys to the Impala, tiptoed past Sam’s room, then bypassed the kitchen where chef was cooking and disappeared through an infrequently-used side door into the garage.

 

———-

**FBI Headquarters**

**Philadelphia**

John was too anxious to bear for probably the first time in his entire life. Not that that he had never been nervous before. Plenty of times, mostly after press conferences. This was different. He felt a sense of doom that he couldn’t shake, and it didn’t help that Michael had been uncharacteristically rude and unfriendly upon his arrival.

If Dean felt this anxious all the time, John would definitely be able to understand some of the very poor choices the kid had been making lately. It was not a fun state of mind, to say the least, and his trains of thought were crisscrossing all over the place.

“Come in,” Michael finally ordered as he threw open the door suddenly, which made John jump a little and admonish himself for being a nervous nelly.

As he sat down in Michael’s uncomfortable visitor chairs, he could clearly see a photo of himself, Dean, Castiel, and his two guards and Angela standing next to a photographer’s car outside Castiel’s house, chatting away.

Michael turned the monitor all the way around. “What was this about, John?”

John sat up a little straighter, feeling better now that the ball was in his court. “My son is having some severe anxiety over photographers following us around everywhere, so I made him come with me to meet some of them. To humanize them a little, if you will. It went really well and he’s been pretty good about the whole thing ever since.”

“Hmmm. Anything else to add?”

“Nothing that I’m obliged to report. Why do you ask?”

“If you made some kind of deal-”

John interrupted harshly, “There is absolutely nothing illegal about what I did.”

Michael eyed him. “What you could have done, John, is attempt to bribe the press. That’s if what I’m hearing is correct, naturally. I’d rather hear it from you, if you don’t mind. The entire story.”

“That’s bullshit,” John scoffed. “I fully intended to have those men sign an agreement not to take photos of my son in exchange for me paying them the profit they would have made off of selling them over the course of a year.”

“You can’t do that.” He opened up a book and thumbed to the right page, then shoved it over.

_Statute 4.2.1 enacted April 2, 1990 - no government or party officer shall attempt to influence freedom or direction of the press by offer of pecuniary considerations, esp. in the form of a payment, material or non-material gift, material or non-material reward, or donation of any kind._

John read it.

“Michael, I repeat: I had no intention of paying them under the table. This was all going to be above-board and transparent.”

“I understand that. What you’re saying is that you would be _publicly_ flaunting the law, then.”

“There is nothing in there that says I can’t contract them for their services, or lack thereof!”

Michael closed the book hard and turned around to place it back on his shelf. “Here,” he said, shoving a piece of paper at John. “I made a copy of it for you for your records. It clearly says you shall not influence the press _by offer of pecuniary considerations_. That says, literally translated: you may not trade money in exchange for influencing the press. Period”

“No money has changed hands. It was just an offer. In fact, none of them have taken me up on it yet.”

“Read the statute again,” Michael commanded. “Out loud.”

John did, and Michael stopped him on the word _attempt,_ at which John scoffed. “You can’t be serious. My son is having a nervous breakdown because of these clowns, and I’m allowed no recourse? What would you have me do? Blindfold him all day long so he can’t see them? It should be against the law to harass them like they do, but I’m the one getting punished. And Dean, too.”

Michael turned the monitor back to where it belonged and leaned back a little. “John, when you took your position, you explicitly agreed to obey all of these statutes. Not just the ones you agree with. The Office of Ethics and Integrity was created at _your_ suggestion, with mostly your design...and now you want to defy them? Think about how that makes you look. And how it would make us look if we just disregarded this matter.”

“It makes me look like I’m worried for my son’s privacy and mental health, actually, and I’m fine with that.”

“Does that mean you’re fine with going to jail, too? Because you broke the law, like it or not. It’s actually a class one misdemeanor, so I could have you put in jail right now for a week. That’s the standard sentence if you plead guilty. Longer if you force a trial.”

“Do it, then,” John challenged. “At least it will bring some attention to the issue.”

Michael looked at him askance. “ _Do it_? Really? Is that what Castiel would advise you, if he were here? Or are you just recklessly emboldened by being alone with me, because I’ve always been way too lenient with you in the past?”

John started a little; suddenly remembering he had to tell him that Castiel quit. That was another statute altogether with worse consequences if ignored.

“Castiel and I agreed not to speak again until he returns to work on January 26, in order to avoid more media attention,” John lied, flushing in shame at the same time. So much for being transparent.

“Okay. Well, I want you to call him now and ask him if you should go to jail, pay the $50,000 fine, or get a warning and public censure. If you two can agree on a solution, I’ll agree to it as well.”

 _Shit._ He couldn’t call, his damned number was blocked. “First of all, Michael, I will always make my own decisions on those matters. Second of all, it’s 6am in Los Angeles. He’s asleep.”

Michael’s expression was unreadable. “Then what do you choose?”

“I choose to fight this. It’s ridiculous.”

“Fine. I’ll let Bela know. You can expect to hear back from her directly. Do you have your phone records?”

John stared at him for a few long moments, wanting to continue the previous conversation, then gave it up to reach down to his briefcase and hand the sealed envelope over wordlessly.

“Thanks.” He pushed another piece of paper over to him. “This is just a simple affidavit you’ll need to sign to certify the records are accurate. Standard form, nothing to worry about it. I also subpoenaed Lucifer’s records for our files. This investigation is turning out to be pretty much a dead-end, but there’s one important question I have to ask you after you sign.”

One more question. No doubt it would lead to another argument. John signed the form and handed it over, thankful that he had made no shady calls to worry about. He was secretly relieved, however, that Lucifer’s calls were going to be scoured as well.

“Yes? What’s the question.”

Michael looked anxious very briefly, but then it passed. “Now, I don’t want you to jump to conclusions as to why I’m asking. We know that The Insurrectionists have employed double agents in the past, and that - don’t interrupt me, please - we know you do, and it’s not illegal. Absolutely nothing I’m about to ask you, or the answer you will give me, will result in any penalty whatsoever. As long as you tell the truth, that is. If you lie, different story.”

John already knew what he was going to ask, but he didn’t jump on it. No use pushing his luck.

“I understand. Will I have the option not to answer?”

“Of course. You always have that option unless required by law. Was Ruby a double agent for the Insurrectionists? I refrained from asking before because that lies outside my jurisdiction, but I’m asking now because nothing about this investigation makes sense, and we could use all the help we can get.”

“Yes, she was. Only Castiel, Gabriel, Charlie, and myself are aware of that detail. I take it back...Lucifer knows, too. And Uriel.”

Michael was taken aback by the last part. “What do you mean, Lucifer and Uriel _know_? Last time you and I talked, Lucifer was adamant that she wasn’t.”

John shrugged. “Well, something’s changed in those ten days. He confronted me about it on our call on Tuesday. I didn’t confirm or deny it. Maybe you should ask _him_ how they found out. Can I ask you a question now?”

“Uh, sure.” Michael was still a little shell-shocked. Perhaps that mystery caller wasn't lying, after all. Was it possible that John could be so devious?

“Did Lucifer actually ask you if he could meet with me in person today?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah. But John, you need to watch yourself. I’m telling you this not as your FBI contact, but as a...well, not as a friend, either, since we’re not technically friends. But let me put it this way. As a person who wants to see you succeed, I really don’t like the path you’re on. At all. You’re becoming a bit of a rollercoaster, and the tracks aren’t even finished being built yet. For the first time...I don’t know how to say this, to be honest.”

John sat up straighter in his chair, all of Castiel’s harsh words flooding back to him suddenly. Not Michael, too? He couldn’t take any more of the same criticism.

“I’m listening,” he prompted. “Nothing you say to me is going to be a surprise, trust me.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Never mind. Just...go ahead.”

Michael pulled out a binder from his desk. “This is my file on you. It’s getting thicker by the day and taking up all my time. Used to be almost empty until last October, when you openly threatened Lucifer in a press conference. Remember that? Since then, you’ve been a total pain in the ass, not going to to lie. You’re better than this. I realize what went down with Castiel and Gabriel would drive anyone to distraction, but it’s time to get over it and start toeing the line again from here on out.”

John nodded, feeling significantly subdued and chastised. “Remind me how much the fine is for my little infraction this time?”

“$50,000 if the amount you offered was under that. If not, it escalates into felony territory and mandatory jail time.”

John did not bother doing the math; he hadn’t offered to pay the photographers _that_ much. “In that case my fine would be $50,000.”

“Okay, and that must come your personal funds. Not party funds. Who has access to your bank back in Los Angeles?”

John swallowed thickly. “Only me and Castiel. Can I just handle it when I get home?”

“No, not if you aren’t the only authorized person on the account. He has to do it, or you have to stay here until he can explain why he can’t - such as being out of town. We’ll give him a call together and arrange it. Let me get the wire transfer info from our controller. Hang on.”

He left the office, and John leaned back and stared at the ceiling in a daze. This had all gotten out of control so fast, and Michael was right. He needed to get it together, immediately. But the problem was that Castiel wasn’t going to pick up his call. He certainly wouldn’t pick up anything coming from Philadelphia at this point, if he truly had decided to resign.

Even if he did, the fact that he had resigned might emerge, and John would have a lot of explaining to do. His heart was racing faster than he had ever felt it, and it nearly stopped when Michael re-entered the room and sat back down.

“Alright. I realize it’s early there, but we have to try.”

“Michael, I...he may not pick up. As I stated earlier, we agreed not to speak again until January 26.”

“Okay, well try anyway.”

John dialed Rufus instead, who picked up immediately. “Hey, Rufus. I’m sorry for calling so early. I need you to get Castiel on the phone, please.”

“Speakerphone, John,” said Michael quietly.

Shit. “Wait, Rufus. I’m putting you on speaker. Yeah, sorry. Can you please wake up Castiel and put him on the phone? Let him know I’m calling with a personal emergency. Thanks so much.”

John could barely breathe. He fully expected the man to refuse to take the call, and was started and relieved to hear the low, grumbly voice only a few seconds later.

“Cas? I’m so sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“What’s the emergency?” he asked testily.

John cleared his throat. “Well, I’m here with Michael in Philadelphia and you’re on speakerphone. Let’s just say you were right about my offer to the photographers. I’ve been fined, and I need you to wire money from my personal account so they’ll let me come back home. May I ask for your assistance with that?”

There was only a slight pause while Castiel took in this unexpected news. “Of course. The bank doesn’t open for four hours, though. Can you email me exactly what you need, and I’ll head over there and be first in line to take care of it.”

Michael shook his head. “Uh, no. We have to fax it. Is your machine plugged in?”

“Probably not, just send it in like ten minutes and it will be fine.”

“Great,” said John, carefully wording what he had to say next. “Is your cell phone working yet? If so, I’ll call you in about fifteen minutes to confirm you received the fax.”

“I will have Rufus call you to confirm I received it. Anything else, gentlemen?”

Michael answered for John. “No, thank you. Goodbye.”

Castiel immediately hung up, and John cursed inwardly for losing the call so quickly. Not that Cas would want to spend even one more moment talking to him, of course.

“Alright,” Michael said. “I need to write up a report of this that we both need to go over and sign once the funds are received. So it looks like you have half the day to burn, at least, so maybe go get something to eat. City Tavern is a block away. Be back here by 1pm.”

John stood up. “Will do. And...thanks for talking me into taking the fine, by the way.”

“I didn’t talk you into it, you just suddenly came to your senses. Which is good, definitely something I’d like to see more often. And don’t think I have no sympathy for the situation with Dean. I really do, but you did the wrong thing for the right reasons. It was still wrong, though.”

John smiled a little. “I said that exact same thing, verbatim, to Dean only a few days ago. I hear you loud and clear. See you in a few hours.”

Benny and John took a table at City Tavern, and before John could even pick up the menu his phone rang with the Knight Rider theme song. Castiel’s ringtone. He and Benny both froze.

“Ummm. Should I step away?” asked Benny.

“No. Hang on. Hello, Cas.”

“I got the fax, but I’m calling for another reason. Dean is here without a guard. He can stay if you want him to, I don’t mind. But did you authorize this?”

John’s blood started to boil on the spot. “No, I did not. Absolutely not.” He realized how indignant that sounded, then immediately clarified. “Not because it’s your house, of course. It’s just that he’s not to go anywhere without a guard, period. You’re sure he came on his own?”

“Yes. Drove the Impala to my house. I’m not trying to tattle on him. Just telling you where he is.”

“I know, thanks. Is he alright? Like, not freaking out or anything?”

“He’s fine. Just a bit defensive when I started asking questions. Said you gave the okay, but I didn’t believe him and sent him out back to play with Angela. He even brought us breakfast from McDonalds.”

“I’m going to kill him this time. For real. I’m sorry he bothered you, Cas. Shit, I don’t know what to do,” John confessed helplessly. Whatever he did would alienate Dean even further than he had already pushed him away.

“He can stay until you decide,” replied Castiel. “Let me know. I’ve unblocked your number because he didn’t bring his phone”

“Thank you. I’m going to have a stroke before the week is out, I’m telling you. I should update my will.”

“You’d better hurry, it’s already Friday.”

John groaned. “Shut up. Don’t make me laugh when I’m busy throwing myself a pity party. Thanks, Cas. And again, I’m sorry.”

He hung up and called a very frantic Lisa, who was already in the car searching for him along, with Garth in a different car.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. He snuck out without activating an external alarm. We noticed the Impala was gone about thirty minutes ago and I’ve been calling you ever since.”

“I know, don’t worry. My phone was on silent. He’s at Castiel’s house now. Just stay outside until he comes out. Thanks.”

He called Cas back and asked to talk to Dean.

“Hey, Dean. I hope you’re enjoying the last vestiges of freedom you’re going to have for a very long time.”

“I don’t care. Where are you?” Dean asked angrily. “You promised you would tell us where you were going all the time, remember? On Christmas Day. You promised.”

John sighed. “Dean, I’m technically at work no matter where I am. I’ll still be home by 5. What are you freaking out about now?”

“No you’re not. The news this morning showed you boarding a plane at midnight. You left last night and didn’t tell us.”

“Calm down. We’ll talk when I get home tonight. Go straight home, right now. If you don’t, you’re going to be grounded until you’re 18, and I’m not even joking.”

“Fine with me, I don’t care.”

“Okay. One more thing. Put your driver’s license and car keys on my desk by the time I get home. Goodbye.”

“Wait, dad-”

John hung up and now Michael was calling. For god’s sake, what did he want already?

“John, I just talked to Bela. She wants to see you at 10:00. Think you can be back by then?”

“No problem. See you then.”

\---------------

Bela was very welcoming of John’s presence, which was quite a surprise - needless to say.

“John, I understand that Michael has spoken to you of the recent behavior that has caused us to become concerned for your welfare, and that of your party. Do you understand where he is coming from?”

“Of course, and I’ll take the advice to heart.”

“Good. I’m hopeful that the return of Castiel will settle you down a little bit. I must say, from my point of view, it appears you’ve somewhat gone off the rails without his guidance. But maybe that’s an inappropriate thing to say.”

John smiled a little. “It’s not wrong, to be honest.”

“Right. Well, the reason I wanted to see you now is because Michael passed along your request to meet with Lucifer in person. You are free to meet with him as you wish, in any location at any time. You must split any cost of meeting between you down to the cent and send copies of the paid bills to Michael. Flights, meeting room, etc. That’s my only caveat. There is no need to ask us again.”

“Right,” John replied, faltering a little. “Well, considering we’re both under FBI investigation, I just thought it was better to be safe than sorry and ask Michael about the first meeting. Which he denied, by the way.”

Bela nodded. “I denied it and am under no obligation to explain why. But that’s irrelevant now and as long as you two can keep from strangling each other on sight, be my guest. And yes, the investigation is still ongoing. That’s also why I’m concerned for you. It would truly be in your best interests, John, to heed Michael’s advice to toe the line. What do you have to say about that?”

“That he’s right, of course.”

“Yes, he is. I’m going to go ahead and let you go home before we receive the funds. To do otherwise would show a lack of trust between us, and that’s the last thing I want right now.”

She stood up and offered her hand, which John shook warmly. “Thank you. No offense, but I hope to never see either one of you again.”

“I share the same sentiment. Safe travels.”

As soon as he was in the car to the airport, John called Castiel.

“Still two hours until the bank opens,” Cas grumbled upon picking up the phone.

“I know. They’re letting me go home anyway. Look, Cas, there’s no easy way to say this. I royally fucked up in so many ways that I can’t even process it all. I don’t even care if I lose my job over this. The only thing that I can’t handle is losing our friendship.”

“John, I’ve already decided-”

“Don’t say no yet,” John pressed. “Just...please give me a chance to apologize first.”

Castiel paused. “I wasn’t going to say no. I was going to say I’ve already decided we should talk about this. But I’m driving to Las Vegas immediately after I do your transfer at the bank. I’m afraid our in-person conversation will have to wait.”

“Maybe not. What are you doing in Vegas?”

“Well, it’s technically Henderson. I’m going to watch my brother’s house on Lake Las Vegas while he’s on vacation.”

John paused. This was a sticky predicament regarding security; if he wasn’t going to quit his job then he’d be required to take Rufus with him. If he was going to quit, he'd feel no obligation to take him…

“Are you taking Rufus?” he asked carefully.

“No.”

_Shit._

“Okay. Cas, we...I will meet you there, if that’s okay. I won’t even bitch about you not taking Rufus. Just give me an hour. I don’t want to intrude on your vacation any longer than that.”

There was a very long pause that made them both uncomfortable, and finally Cas asked how John was going to get there.

“I’m on a charter plane, we’ll change course. No big deal.”

Castiel finally gave in. “Alright. Who do you have with you?”

“Just Benny.”

“Okay. I’ll come get you guys at the airport. Which terminal - Signature, or Atlantic?”

“Signature at Henderson Executive Airport. Much more secure there. I’ll call you back soon with an arrival time.”

“Alright, John. See you soon. Safe travels.”


	28. The Lake

**Friday January 14 - continued**

**FBI Headquarters, Philadelphia**

An hour after John Winchester had left her office, Bela Talbot was sitting in front of Michael, listening incredulously to his newest theory on what exactly the leader of the Insurrectionists had been up to since Christmas.

“It all stands to reason, Bela. I don’t care what that mystery caller said, John Winchester did _not_ offer him money to kill Ruby. However, the caller knew she was double. _Knew_ with certainty _._ And at that point there were only four people who did, all of them Insurrectionists.”

“Okay,” said Bela. “And?”

“Well, what I think is that Lucifer and Uriel figured it out after that press conference in which John threw Lucifer under the bus by revealing he wasn’t cooperating with the investigation. In reality, John wasn’t concerned about being blamed, because Ruby was one of his. So he backed Lucifer into a corner with the certainty he would fight back. Which he did. And then we played right into John’s hands by taking that tape away from both of them.”

“I’m not following your line of thinking, sorry,” Bela admitted. “Are you saying John falsely pinned the murder on Lucifer?”

Michael paused to think for a moment. “No, not at all. I’m saying John’s main aim was to...let me put it another way, sorry. My thoughts are all over the place. He _wanted_ Lucifer to figure out she was double.”

“For what purpose?”

“To shut Lucifer out of the investigation by angering him and making him shoot himself in the foot. John played us like a fiddle, Bela.”

Bela wrung her hands together a little under the desk. “No, I can’t accept that. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe this was all orchestrated from the beginning. I think John spontaneously threw that line out at the press conference without thinking. We all know that he’s not any better than Lucifer at keeping his big mouth shut.”

Michael shook his head. “I completely disagree, with respect. The reporter who asked that final question was obviously a plant. John had his answer at the ready, and I swear to you he was almost triumphant when we called him out. Did you see any regret at all? Because I didn’t. The way the whole thing went down, it was almost too perfect.”

“That reporter was an Opportunist, Michael.”

“Exactly. An Insurrectionist would have been too obvious. We have to consider he was paid off.”

Bela didn’t say anything for quite a long time, and they both sat back and silently tried to piece together all the ill-fitting pieces. The only obvious answer was that the Opportunists were behind Ruby’s murder, but there was no proof.

“Alright,” Bela finally said. “Then how did your mystery caller know Ruby was double? And how did he have John’s cell phone number?”

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know yet. But I’ve got our auditors working on his phone records right now, and hopefully we’ll have some answers shortly. My initial theory is that someone on John’s team has turned, but…again, only four people knew she was double. It could just as easily be someone that Lucifer recruited to lie, and the info just happened to be accurate. I don’t know for sure at the moment.”

“This is giving me a headache,” Bela muttered, “and it’s just more argument towards President Henrikson’s stance that double agents should be illegal. I think we should revisit that idea.”

“I’m in agreement with you there. Whatever is happening, though, I guarantee you John is 100% convinced Lucifer is guilty. He would never do any of this to frame an innocent man...which means John himself was not involved, and the caller was lying to us.”

“Past good character isn’t permissible evidence for innocence. You’re jumping ahead here. I think it’s time to wiretap him. Do you agree?”

Michael did not agree, actually, but he also knew his liking for John had been influencing him too much already. Not just lately, but over the past few years in general.

“As a matter of course, yes, but...I think that’s pointless, to be honest. Everyone with a brain knows better than to not conduct illegal activity on the phone, and John has a bigger brain than anyone. Even if he doesn’t act like it sometimes. I’ll bet you he thinks we already monitor him.”

Bela nodded. “Probably. Just one last question for you, to which I already know the answer. Why do you think there has been no pushback from his constituents about the murder?”

"Simple. They trust him.”

“Exactly, Michael. They trust him implicitly, and he knows it. Hell, even I trust him. Every gut instinct tells me to stop trying to figure this all out and just accept that he wasn’t behind the murder. We have to have better proof than that, though. When trust turns blind, it also turns dangerous. So you and I need to stay on him and keep talking about this with me. I’m going to meet with the president today to get the wiretap order expedited. Thanks for your input.”

\------------------------

**Henderson, Nevada**

John had very little idea of what to expect from Cas, except that whatever he did would be a surprise of some sort. Even after ten years, John still was totally wrong sometimes when predicting what direction the man would take on any given topic. So when the black truck rolled up to the plane, he felt himself getting more anxious by the second. Maybe Cas was just going to step out long enough to hand him the resignation letter and then get back in to drive off into the desert and disappear. It would be just like him, too.

Castiel stepped out and waited for them to come down the stairs. It was strange to see him so casual in jeans and a leather jacket in the middle of a weekday, and John was glad that he changed on the plane into a similar outfit.

Benny took the wheel of the truck while John and Cas got in the back seat.

“Good to see you,” John said casually.

“Thank you.”

_No ‘nice to see you too,’ eh? So that’s how we are going to do this._

“Benny,” called John, “can you pull through somewhere for food? I’m starving. Cas, any preference? We departed Philadelphia so ahead of schedule that that the catering got left behind.”

“In-N-Out? There’s one right before we get on the freeway. Benny, just keep going straight up St. Rose for now. Take a right. No, not here...next light. Yes. Just keep going for a few miles, then left on Eastern.”

“How have you been, Cas?” John asked nervously after a minute.

“I’m fine. Forgive me for being so blunt, but what the hell is going on with Dean? I tried to catch up with him, but it was like talking to a complete stranger.”

“I know the feeling.”

“None of my business, of course, but I care about him so I wanted to see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

John cleared his throat and thought about what he wanted to say. He didn’t want to share too much, but maybe if he made him feel a little sorry for him, their upcoming conversation might be that much easier.

“Still afraid of me, unfortunately. But he said some awful things to his brother on Monday. Treating him like shit, and I called him out on it and...well, let’s just say he’s still feeling the consequences every time he sits down. He’s been angry at the world ever since, although he’s never been more polite to me in his life while he continues to break every rule he can, left and right. The worst being today when he showed up at your house alone, that is.”

Was that today? Jesus, it already felt like a lifetime ago.

“I feel bad for getting him in trouble,” Cas admitted. “Who was supposed to be guarding him?”

John shrugged. “Don’t feel bad for one second longer, because he won’t blame you for anything. There was no guard on him at 5:30am, so nobody got fired this time. He snuck out the side door to the garage, which I will of course be arming in the future. Anyway, he’s going to have a hell of a price to pay when I get back. And no, I’m not going to go easy on him, so don’t ask. I just can’t seem to get through to him lately.”

“Well,” Cas answered philosophically, “sounds like you have to change tactics, then. Maybe he’s outgrown corporal punishment. Sorry, none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay. I think you’re right, in any case. I’m going to take his driver’s license away for a while, for starters.”

“Maybe you should shred it.”

John gaped at him. “What? Wow, that’s...that’s cold. I don’t think I’m _that_ cruel.”

“It’s not cruel. In fact, my father did exactly that to me and my brother when we kept blowing our curfew night after night. I’ll never forget it. Total kick in the pants. Set us straight for a long time.”

“Jesus. I don’t know, I mean…” John thought about it, then decided against it. “Dean would have another nervous breakdown if he had to take a driving test again.”

“He wouldn’t have to. You can just get a replacement issued when you’re ready for him to drive again. Anyway, I’m sorry for putting my two cents in when you didn’t ask. I just think anything is better than trying to beat him into submission.”

John gasped. “I don’t _beat_ him, Cas! For god’s sake.” He felt Benny’s eyes on him in the mirror suddenly, and his stomach turned a little at the ugly memory of Monday’s incident.  

The car was silent until they got to In-N-Out. The drive-thru line was a mile long, so they skipped it and opted for the nearby Del Taco instead and pulled over in a corner of the parking lot to eat.

“Did you bring Angela?” John asked between bites of burrito.

“No. She’s at Malibu Pet Retreat for a few days. I just wanted to be alone.”

“Understandable,” John replied. This conversation was becoming awkward with Benny being in full earshot, so John said nothing more except small observations about the scenery until they arrived at the house.

As they went in, Benny disappeared around the back of the house to check it.

They went into the kitchen and Castiel pulled two beers out of the fridge. “John,” he began somberly as he handed one bottle to John, “you should know right off the bat that I actually still want to go back to work. But I have conditions which I don’t think you’ll agree to, so I’ve been hesitant to talk to you.”

“I see. So that’s why I haven’t received your resignation letter?” John asked once his heart had started beating again.

“Yes. I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. I was going to this morning, but then you called me from Philadelphia and told me about the fine. Must say that made me feel a little more validated about my stance on what you said to those photographers.”

John bit back a rude retort and took a huge swig of his beer. He replied calmly, “You would have been even more satisfied if Michael put me in jail for a week, I’m sure. Which he would have if you didn’t come through with that transfer. By the way, I haven’t thanked you for that. So, thank you.”

Cas looked at him askance. “ _Satisfied_? About you being in jail? Is that really what you think?”

“I do, actually,” John challenged.

“You’re wrong. If that were the case...look, I told you on the spot you were breaking the law and begged you to stop, and you completely disregarded every single word. You also disregarded me about not throwing Lucifer under the bus - also on live television, may I add. If I wanted you in jail, I would have kept my mouth shut on those two occasions, and several others. But you didn’t hire me to keep my mouth shut.”

John knew he had to back down a little. Cas was right. “You’re correct, I didn’t. But-”

“No _buts_. To be bluntly honest, John, I can’t stand by and watch while you sabotage yourself trying to take down Lucifer. Because that’s all you been letting me do lately is stand by and watch you do whatever the hell you want regardless of what Gabe and I think. _That’s_ why I quit. So unless you agree to take our counsel from here on out, I’ll stay quit and you can find another person who doesn’t care about you half as much I do, but will do whatever you want as long as he keeps getting a paycheck.”

John felt vaguely nauseated all of a sudden. “Hold on, let’s not get emotional. I want to talk about this in a way that benefits us both, and neither of us are at our best when we’re angry.”

“But I am angry. And frustrated. You don’t seem aware that your actions lately are throwing red flags up left and right. You could have gone to jail today. You probably should have, to be even more blunt. Maybe that would set you straight.”

John turned and threw his bottle into the trash, fighting down his natural tendency to snap back when attacked like this. “Okay. That’s enough,” he said calmly. “I get it. Let’s go take a walk along the lake and talk. Not argue.”

\----------------------

**Uriel’s Car - same day**

“Gadreel...pick up the phone, my man. Need to talk to you.”

Uriel huffed and then snapped the phone shut again. He hadn’t heard from his contact since making the payment, and the thought of what that could mean was getting his stomach completely twisted up into knots. Had the man turned again, or was he legitimately too busy to talk? Maybe he just decided to take the money and run.

But he wouldn’t do that, though. He knew Uriel could turn him in to John Winchester in a heartbeat, even if it meant taking down Lucifer, too.

\------------------------

**Lake Las Vegas**

“The very first thing I want you to know, Cas, is that I’m no longer fighting with Lucifer. He’ll bring himself down eventually, I’m certain of it. In fact, we’ve been talking cordially every day for almost two weeks, as you know. Per Michael’s orders, I mean.”

Castiel seemed to not believe him. “You all of a sudden just decided to drop the whole Ruby thing and become friends with Lucifer? Why?”

“Not friends. Allies. The FBI forced me to back off, and I did. Our first few conversations were rough, but after they declared it a cold case we came to an understand and want to cooperate.”

“On what, exactly? I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

John smiled. “I know, I can hardly believe it myself. We haven’t agreed on what to cooperate about yet, but...okay, I can tell by your expression that you don’t believe me.”

“I...it’s not that I don’t believe you. This is just all rather sudden and somewhat wild news. Trying to take it in.”

John flipped open his phone and dialed Lucifer. “Well, I’ll have to prove it to you, then.”

“John. What’s up?”

“Hey. I...uh, I’m with Castiel and you’re on speaker. Wanted to see when we could reschedule our meeting in Las Vegas. I got the okay from Michael and Bela to set a meeting anytime in the future without needing their permission.”

“Ah, thanks for that. Well, I’m on vacation next week, so that’s too bad. It will have to wait until the following week.”

John glanced sidelong at Castiel. He was indeed incredulous.

“Well, I have a crazy idea, if you’re up for it. I'm in Las Vegas now and could fly to Denver tonight for dinner.”

There was a short pause. “I would, actually, but we’re having a blizzard and the airports are closed.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll meet you whenever the weather allows, I guess.”

Lucifer let out either a long sigh, or a very long breath that he’d been holding. “I’m vacationing in San Diego until next Sunday. If you want to drive down and have dinner there, I can do that on...hold on.”

John waited patiently and watched Castiel’s expressions change rapidly while Lucifer checked his calendar.

“Wednesday night works. My kids are taking in some boy band concert that night.”

“Sure. It’s a date. I mean...you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, let’s not move to first base yet, John. Just you, or both of you?”

John looked at Castiel, who shook his head.

“Just me, since Cas isn’t back in the office until the 26th. We’ll talk more Monday to set up the details.”

“Yep, 10am. Thanks.”

They hung up and John looked at Castiel with a triumphant glow, barely able to keep from laughing at the man’s face. “See? Told you. I’m honestly trying to redeem myself, Cas. I really am. This is the first step among many.”

Castiel was not at all amused. “I’ve been telling you to meet with him for _years_ , John. And then when I tell you _not_ to meet with him because he had our agent murdered, that’s exactly what you do? What are you up to now, exactly?”

John’s heart fell to the ground. “ _Up to_? I’m not up to anything except trying to move forward and cooperate on issues we have in common. What are you implying, exactly?”

Castiel looked out at the lake for a while as they continued to walk. “John, you must know that your mind is….nothing. Sorry. I’m having some trust issues right now, considering everything that’s happened. Do you want to hear my conditions for coming back to work for you? Maybe that will help clarify my point of view before I say something I’ll regret.”

John swallowed hard. “Alright. What are they?”

“The first is that you start taking Gabriel’s PR advice seriously and agree to a script before the cameras start rolling. No improvising. Nearly every time you do, we end up with a crisis.”

“I think that’s exaggerating a little, but I can work with that. What’s the next one?”

“Secondly,” Castiel continued somberly, “you always said our team was a democracy. You, me, Gabriel, and sometimes Charlie. Since October or so, you’ve been autocratic and dictatorial, not wanting or taking any input to make decisions. That’s not going to work for me anymore.”

John nearly stopped him at that, but he calmly asked, “Alright. Also an exaggeration, but we can hash that out later. Anything else?”

“Yes. The most important one. I’m your chief of staff and I expect you to treat me as such. You used to, but since last year you’ve been making up your mind and making decisions long before asking for my take on things, if you even bother at all. So I’m constantly chasing you for answers and sometimes don’t even know what’s going on at all. Like Ruby being in Greeley on an errand for you. Nobody bothered to tell me, really? Why did Gabe get involved? That’s my department. I can’t work like that anymore. I won’t do it. You need to include me in all your decisions that affect the party, period.”

“Okay. That is definitely true, and I apologize. To be fair, I have one condition for you. If you can’t meet it, we’ll have to say goodbye and good luck right now.”

Castiel looked at him searchingly. “Just one? What is it?”

“You don’t ever bring up anything that has happened between us in the past few months to me ever again. I know I’ve fucked up, I’m paying for it with my happiness as well as my bank account, and I don’t need a constant reminder of how the mighty have fallen. And I will do the same for you. No holding grudges bullshit from either of us. Are we agreed?”

Castiel smiled a little. “John, you’re the king of holding grudges. I expect you to still be commenting on my minor failings 8 years ago while we’re on our respective deathbeds. But yes, I agree anyway. You haven’t said whether you’ll agree to my first two terms yet.”

“Yes. I agree. No improvising. No dictatorship. No big solo decisions.”

“Good. That’s settled then. And I want to be at all future meetings with Lucifer.”

John could hardly believe what he was hearing, and seeing. Castiel smiling and agreeing so easily to completely reverse his decision of four days ago? Would wonders never cease?

“Okay. You’re absolutely sure you want to come back?”

“Yes. Are you sure you want me back?”

John felt like crying. “Fuck, yes. Damn, I thought...”

Castiel got very serious suddenly. “Oh. You know what, John? I’m really sorry, but I forgot my fourth term. It’s actually more important that all of the other three put together. Could be a deal breaker if you can’t agree to it.”

 _Oh god……_ “Okay. I’m listening, but-”

“I want photographic evidence of that god-awful fluffy chair being gone from my office before I come back. If it’s not, I’m going to go join the Opportunists and work for Lucifer, swear to god.”

“Oh, forget it then. Deal’s off.” John grinned, still not quite believing his good fortune. “I don’t know what to say Cas, honestly. I actually thought this would be our last conversation ever.”

“It almost was. I’m really tired, John. How about I drive you back to the airport and call it a day.”

“No, call us a taxi. We’ll be fine. Get some rest.”

“Okay,” said Cas as he rubbed his eyes and yawned. “You’re right.”

Before he could say anything else, John pulled his friend into a tight hug. He was glad that Cas didn’t pull back; in fact, he hugged him back just as hard.

“Welcome back, Cas. That stupid chair is history, I promise.”

“Thanks. Burn it for good measure. Preferably in Gabriel’s front yard.”

\-------------

**Philadelphia**

“Hello Michael, it’s Bela. Really need you to speed up the review of those phone records so the president will approve the wiretap order for John. When can you let me know if you find anything even remotely suspicious so we can move forward?”

Michael cleared his throat as he looked at one particular number highlighted in yellow. Four times over two days.

“I already have, actually. On December 19 and 20, John made three calls to and received one from an unknown mobile phone with a Denver area code. It’s completely untraceable because the number was deactivated on December 26.”

Bela paused, not really happy about that development. She wanted John to be innocent as much as Michael did.

“Right. I would definitely ping that as highly suspicious, especially considering the time frame. We’ll get on it. Thanks, Michael.”

\----------------------------------------


	29. Unauthorized Transactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you got a notification for the same chapter twice, or three times...I published it on the wrong date and didn't know how to fix!!!
> 
> Also, Ao3 is not publishing my new chapters to the front page. I'm confused. I'm like 30 titles down...how am I supposed to get new readers that way?!?! :(

**Friday afternoon**

**Henderson, Nevada**

As the taxi alternated between crawling and idling in traffic to Henderson airport, an idea that had been brewing in the back of John’s mind for some time finally leaped to the forefront again and demanded attention. He dug out his phone and took a deep breath before dialing.

“Captain Ketch - quick question. Can we stop off in Palm Springs on the way home? I know you need time to file a flight plan and all.”

“We’ll only need 30 minutes, Mr. Winchester. What is your ETA?”

“Probably about 45 minutes, so that’s perfect.”

“Consider it done.”

John stared morosely at the passing scenery in silence. He had never been a fan of the desert, but there was no denying the late afternoon winter sun washed all the dreary tan rocks into mesmerizing shades of orange and purple.

“Boss,” said Benny, drawing John abruptly out of his thoughts. “May I ask why we’re going to Palm Springs?”

“No. Please excuse me for a moment, I need to call my assistant.”

Benny nodded and turned his attention to the rain that was just starting to hit the windows.

“Hey Hannah, it’s John. I need a few things, please. Can you have a car meet me and Benny at Palm Springs airport in about an hour and ten minutes or so? I’ll probably need two hours, round-trip.” He glanced sidelong at Benny, not wanting him to hear the next part but knowing that lowering his voice would insult the man, besides being futile. After all, they were sitting two feet apart. “The second thing is I need to get an appointment at Palms Elite for a quick tour. The person I spoke to last time was named Anna. If she’s there, that’s great. I don’t want any fanfare at all. Once that’s all done, can you please call our office movers and have them take away the white chair in Castiel’s office? I don’t want it within a hundred miles of the place. Great. Just let me know when everything’s done. Thanks, kiddo.”

He hung up and ignored Benny’s curiosity. John, as always, was fiercely protective of family matters and shared nothing with his guards unless he absolutely had to for the boys’ safety. Even so, everyone in the household knew father and son were not on good terms right now, a fact which caused them untold stress without actually affecting them directly.

Benny knew full well that “Palms Elite” was a boarding school for high schoolers, which mean John was possibly planning on separating Dean from Sam. Once again, he found himself secretly pissed off at John for being way too hard on the poor kid, not that he could ever say such a thing. He’d tried to intervene between them once at a hotel after John lost his temper, and it nearly got him fired. So Benny kept his mouth shut and watched the storm as it rolled in over Seven Hills.

\--------------

“Dean, we just landed in Santa Monica. I want you in my study in fifteen minutes. Did you put your car keys and license on my desk?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean responded somberly. “It’s almost 7:30. You missed dinner.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you.”

“You said you’d be home by five,” Dean added flatly.

“Dean, it’s best to just stop talking. Fifteen minutes,” repeated John firmly before hanging up. Lisa was parked next to the terminal in her own blue Prius.

“Where’s the SUV?” he asked in surprise as he descended the stairs.

Lisa waited until he came closer to her before answering. “On its way to LAX with Rufus, as a diversion. I waited 20 minutes and left behind him. Nobody followed me here, thankfully.”

John stopped in his tracks, adrenaline suddenly rushing at full strength. “What’s happened?”

Lisa responded almost timidly, fully expecting him to shoot the messenger. “Word got out that you were in Philadelphia today, and there was a breaking news story. It’s probably best if-”

“If I call Gabriel, yes. Okay, let’s go. Thanks for coming to get me.”

He dialed Gabriel, who picked up before the phone rang even once.

“John, I know you’ve had a hellishly long day and this is the last thing you want to come back to. But people are throwing a fit about you trying to bribe the press. Their words, not mine. We’ll need to make a statement.”

“No,” John replied firmly, feeling like he was about to have a stroke.

“No...no what?”

“I’m not making any statement right now. It’s Friday night. Let’s revisit this on Monday. I have to get home to my son."

“Understood, but we really should get on top of this immediately. Waiting is a mistake and will only bring about more questions.”

John was about to bark at him to back off, but then he remembered his promise a few hours ago to Castiel. He had sworn he would start listening to Gabriel again, hadn’t he? Yes, he had, as much as he didn’t want to. _Damn it._

“Alright. Draft something and...can I stop by your house to talk about it? It will have to be fast.”

“Of course.”

“Okay...Lisa, to Gabriel’s house, please.”

————

John stared down at the press release without being able to take in the words. He was too tired, and the couch in Gabriel’s office was too comfortable to resist. He leaned back, took a long drag of Gabriel’s third-best brandy, and closed his eyes.

“Read it to me, please. Sorry for asking.”

“No problem. _John Winchester, party leader of The Insurrectionists, readily acknowledges that he inadvertently violated Federal Statute 4.2.1 which was passed to prevent party officials from influencing the press. Mr. Winchester’s only intention was to stop photographers from continually harassing his young sons as they go about their day. The mandatory fine has been paid to rectify the error, which will not be repeated in the future. No payments or contracts have been made, or will be made, to any of the photographers involved.”_

“Read it again.”

Gabriel did, and John thought about it for a while. “I mean, photographers will probably be annoyed that I said they’re harassing. But it’s the truth.”

“Yes, the whole truth and nothing but. As usual.”

_Your transparency is truly self-destructive, John._

John jumped. Those were Lucifer’s words, and he had just heard them clearly...in Lucifer’s voice.

“You okay?” Gabriel asked in a tone of confusion or concern - probably both - after John suddenly bolted upright and shook his head like a dog.

“What? Yes, sorry. I just...I’m tired.”

He set down the brandy gently but didn’t say anything for a long time.

“Boss?” Gabriel prompted after a few very long minutes. “Do you have any feedback?”

John cleared his throat and brought his attention back to the present. “I think what you wrote would be perfect, normally, but not this time. Let’s shorten it down to the bare minimum.”

“Seriously?” Gabriel replied in surprise. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.”

“Yeah. Meet the new John.”

“I like the old John better. Really been missing the dirty jokes.”

John ignored that, not being in the mood for lightheartedness. “Here’s what I want it to say... _John Winchester, Party Leader of the Insurrectionists, confirms he violated statute 4.2.1. and has paid the associated fine. No further statements will be made, nor any questions answered, on this personal matter._ ”

Gabriel wrote it down and then read it back, tone full of wonder.

“Send it,” ordered John flatly. “Don’t argue with me.” Of course, as soon as he said that he had a major pang of guilt for managing to break his promise to Castiel so soon.

Gabriel gulped. “I wasn’t going to argue, John. But maybe it was a mistake to rush into this. Want to think about it and we can revisit it in the morning?”

“Nope. Send it. Also, I finally have some good news, for once. Castiel and I hashed it out today and made peace. He’s going to come back to work. One of his conditions was that I remove your favorite chair from his office, which I’ve already done. So don’t bitch to me about it on Monday. And don’t ever mention it to him, either.”

Gabriel nodded. “Alright. I surrender. The poor man was tormented long enough. Thanks for stopping by, John. I’m not kicking you out or anything, but you seriously need to go home. You look half-dead.”

“I am. But I don’t want to go home.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Family issue.” John was no more open about this subject with Gabriel and Cas than he was with his guards. Even less so, maybe. “I visited Palms Elite this afternoon, and it might be a good fit for Dean. But maybe not. This is incredibly awkward to ask, but what would you think of adding Dean and Sam to your kids’ homeschool classes? Would it even be feasible?”

Gabriel didn’t hesitate. “If it means you not separating the boys, we will absolutely make it happen no matter what.”

“Thank you. I have to give it some thought.” He hauled himself off the couch.

“He’s a good kid, John,” Gabriel said tentatively, knowing he was wading into dangerous waters. “But if you’re serious, you should ask Charlie about Palms Elite. She went there, you know.”

“I didn’t, actually. Thanks. See you Monday.”

“You mean Sunday, unless you’re planning to skip church?”

John groaned a little. “Oh god, no. I’ve officially had enough scandals for the week. See you Sunday, then.”

\-------------------------------------

It was 9pm by the time John got home, and Dean’s nerves were frayed almost beyond repair when his dad finally arrived. The door shut quietly, but to Dean it sounded just like the lid of a coffin closing. After one look at John’s face he didn’t dare complain that he’d been standing in one spot for well over an hour.

John didn’t really care that Dean’s expression looked like he was preparing to be executed. This was the end of the line, and that was that. He silently picked up Dean’s car keys and, for dramatic effect, took his time casually locking them up in the safe.

Then, the bombshell.

“Look to your left. See that shredder in the corner? Plug it in, and then put your driver’s license into it.” 

“Dad! No. Please. I’m sorry-”

“No, you’re not. Nothing you've said or done recently is even remotely sincere.” John pulled a brochure out his jacket and handed it to Dean. “I toured this boarding school today and started an application. I want you to seriously consider attending on your own accord, rather than me forcing you. It’s actually a really nice place and you might be happy there. One of my employees attended and you can even talk to her if you’d like.”

Dean looked about to pass out from anxiety. "Without Sam?"

”Yes. But if you don’t want to go, shred that license and you’ll start homeschooling with Sam on Monday. Can you answer this right now, or do you need more time to think about it?”

“I need more time, please,” Dean whispered, single tears spilling down both cheeks. 

“You have until 3pm on Sunday. Take this, and choose wisely.” He held out the driver's license to his trembling son, who reluctantly accepted it as if it were a live grenade. “Goodnight, Dean.”

John walked out passed his stunned son and slammed the door behind him.

\---------------------------------------

**Gabriel's House, same evening**

“Hey Cas, it’s Gabe. Call me back when you can. This is the fourth message since yesterday, and I’m getting really”-

_*BOOP, BOOP*_

Gabe held out his phone to check the incoming call, then sighed in relief.

“Hi.”

“Sorry, Gabriel,” said Cas, sounding winded. “Didn’t get the phone...in time...saw your messages…been busy.”

“Are you alright?” Gabe asked in alarm.

“Just finished a run…did you need something urgent...”

“Yeah, your advice on a press release. But maybe when it’s a better time to talk?”

Castiel couldn’t possibly pass up the opportunity to see if John was holding to his promise from earlier today, so his curiosity immediately overruled the dire need to take a shower.

“Now is fine. Press release on what?”

Gabriel explained the issue and read the two different versions while Castiel listened in silence.

“So,” he asked after a moment, “did John actually ask for your counsel on this one?”

Gabe laughed. “Not at first. You know how he’s been. But I politely persisted, and he caved and came over to my house without any further argument. I guess this latest trip to Philadelphia might be making him think twice about the way things have been between all of us lately.”

Castiel found himself immensely satisfied by that, and a small smile started to cross his lips. He would never say it was his doing, of course. That might break the spell.

“What about the shorter statement? Are those his words?”

“Completely his words. Hell should start freezing over at what I’m about to say next: I don’t think he’s being transparent enough. Which is funny, because I would have given my right arm to be able to say that for the last ten years. But now that it’s happening, I don’t like it, and neither will our constituents.”

”Agreed. Did you tell him that?”

“Not exactly. He shut me down when I started to protest.”

There was a pause while Castiel pulled out his keys and let himself inside his brother’s house, then he said sternly, “It is exactly your job to tell him that, so you need to tell him. That statement is not going to fly. I have a suggestion on how to expand it just a little.”

“Okay...go for it. Then I’ll suggest it to John. Pray for me.”

 —————

**Winchester Manor**

_“John Winchester, Party Leader of the Insurrectionists, confirms he violated statute 4.2.1._ _in order to protect the privacy of his young sons_ _and has paid the associated fine. No further statements will be made, nor any questions answered, on this personal matter.”_

John tapped his toothbrush on the counter while he thought about the additional verbiage. Gabe was nervous, because he had never gotten comfortable with disagreeing with John, even after all these years.

“Boss, you know I’m all for less transparency, but not total obliqueness. We can’t just go from one extreme to the other in the space of a week.”

“Did Castiel put you up to this? Because that totally sounds like something he would say.”

“No, but it _does_ sound like him. Guess he’s finally rubbing off on me.” Gabe hated lying, but he and Cas had agreed they would not tell John they worked on it together, just to be safe.

“Dad?” said Dean from the hallway.

“Hold on, Gabe. Dean, go back to bed,” he called. “Unless someone is dying, I don’t want to talk right now. Especially to you.”

There was silence, and eventually the sound of footsteps retreating, so John went back to Gabe.

“Sorry. Yeah, send it out at 7am tomorrow. Might as well get a jump on the weekend. Did you talk to your wife about the homeschooling thing?”

Gabe had heard what John just said to Dean, and it made his heart hurt. “Yes, and she’s actually excited about it. She loves Dean. We all do.”

“Thanks again. I’ll let you know by Sunday night what I’ve decided.”

————————-

John skipped breakfast on Saturday morning and went straight to his study, where he worked almost all the way through lunch. Twice his second cell phone rang in its drawer, but he ignored it. The third time, he could no longer resist the urge to find out who was trying to reach him. It had to be one of the photographers he had been trying to pay off, because no one else really had the number.

“John here. Who is this?”

“Good afternoon, sir. You gave me your card on Monday and said to call you if-”

“Sorry friend, I can’t hold up my end of the deal.”

There was a light chuckle on the other end. “Well, I can. Actually, I can do better than that. I have a contact in the government who wants to help you settle this matter lawfully.”

John furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you remember three years ago there was a bill in the house to prohibit photographers from making money off of photos of minors?”

“Of course I do. It was my measure, and it flopped because of people like you. What do you want, exactly?”

“I want to get the two of you connected. He’s fairly powerful and has a lot of influence for matters like these. In fact, his partner can-”

“Let me guess. I give you money, you give me his name?”

Again, another light chuckle. “Of course. Off the records, naturally.”

“Naturally,” John replied sarcastically. “Because this couldn’t be a trap or anything, right? How gullible do you think I am?”

“Gullible enough to think Lucifer is your new best friend all of a sudden. It’s a good thing that the meeting in Las Vegas fell through, before you sold your soul to him.”

John’s heart almost stopped at that, and the ensuing silence was deafening.

“Who the hell are you?” he finally demanded.

“I’m a disgruntled employee of the Opportunists, Mr. Winchester. All I can say is that you need to watch your back. That advice is a freebie. Future guidance will cost you. This isn’t a trick. I just want to use my position to make some extra cash, and then disappear into the night one day when I have enough to manage on my own.”

John pulled his phone away and looked at the number on the screen. It was indeed from Colorado, but it being most likely a mobile phone, that didn’t really mean anything. The man could be across the street for all he knew.

“Give me a name to call you by, even if it’s not real.”

“Christian.”

“Okay, Christian. Listen up. I’m going to take your _free_ advice and be careful with Lucifer. But that’s it. We’re done. Now here's my free advice to you: Don’t ever call me again unless you want to go to jail.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Winchester.”

The line went dead, and before John could even process what had just happened, there was a knock on his study door.

“What?”

“Dad?” It was Sam’s voice through the intercom. “Can I come in, please? I have food for you.”

Still somewhat in a daze, John hit the button that unlocked the door and Sam let himself in. He was carrying a plate in one hand, and a bottle of Root beer in the other.

“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” John replied irritably, and the stricken look on Sam’s face brought him down to earth instantly. He should have remembered it was his youngest’s job to make lunch today. “Sorry, I’m...thank you, it looks delicious. What are you and Dean up to this morning?”

“I don’t know. He won’t leave his room. I’m going out with Lisa soon to get school supplies but he said he won’t be needing any. What does that mean?”

“Did he go to breakfast?”

“No. Or lunch. He threw it in the trash when I took it up to him.”

John rubbed his eyes, not wanting to know how red they were. “Sam, do you want to homeschool with Gabriel’s kids? I asked him yesterday and he said they’d love to have you.”

“Oh. So that explains Dean’s comment.”

“Not really.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Think about it and let me know by tomorrow night, okay?” He took a bit of the grilled cheese sandwich, which was delicious.

Sam looked worried. “Does that mean I would never see my friends again?”

“Probably. But it also means you would be out of the spotlight and not subject to the hundreds of rules that get you guys in trouble.”

“I’ve never gotten in trouble!” Sam protested. “Well, just once, but I was like seven and it wasn’t my fault.”

“I didn’t mean it that way, Sam. I just meant...see, you _should_ be able to get in trouble. Live a normal childhood. Break a sculpture in the library without it making the evening news. Right now, you turn in your homework late and everybody within a hundred miles knows it. It’s not fair.”

Sam said nothing, so John took another bite of the sandwich. “This is awesome, Sammy. What do I have to bribe you with to make me another one?”

Ahhhh, there it was...the cheeky grin John had been missing so much lately. “Let me get one of those new frappuccinos at Starbucks while I’m shopping with Lisa.”

“Done. But only the decaf version, so that you’re not climbing the walls later.”

“Deal.” Sam laughed and left the study to go make another sandwich, and John felt better for a moment. But only for a moment, because his second cell phone was still sitting on the desk, staring at him accusingly in its silence. Whoever the caller had been, he knew about the meeting in Las Vegas and that was enough to confirm he was an Opportunist, because no one except Castiel had known about it on his side.

John went to the wall and hit the intercom button to Dean’s room.

“Yes, sir?”

“I understand Sam made you lunch and you threw it in the trash right in front of him without eating it. Is that true?”

Silence. That was all the confirmation John needed.

“Go down to the kitchen right now and apologize,” he ordered tersely. “It better be sincere.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied wearily.

John angrily snapped the connection closed and turned his attention to all the email he had been neglecting since Friday morning, having spent the entire day running around Las Vegas and Palm Springs. There was one from Lucifer, which surprised him. He couldn’t recall ever having received an email from the man before.

_Let’s meet at Cafe La Maze at 7pm next Wednesday in San Diego. I have a private dining room booked under the name John Tallmadge. Please confirm. - L_

John looked at his second cell phone again, uneasiness rising rapidly in his chest. He knew he should call Michael for guidance, or at least tell Castiel or Gabriel about the call and get their take on it. But for now, he did nothing and moved onto the next email, which was thankfully a routine approval request from Gabriel.

_Gabe/Charlie, this is not approved. No more media appearances until after Castiel returns. Thanks, John._

And then the next email, which was from Michael.

_John, just received the 50K. Receipt attached. Call me first when you need clarification on this statute (or any other statute) next time. - Michael_

_Prick,_ thought John as he printed the receipt and filed the email without replying to it.

Then, the next one:

_Mr. Winchester, this is Gadreel down in accounting. I received an inquiry today from a photographer requesting a payment from you for services requested on Monday. His name is Mark Cain and he says you verbally agreed this morning to send him $1,500 but he is unable to contact you directly. Please confirm if we should process. Thank you - Gadreel_

That made John sit straight up in his chair, nerves tingling again.

_I made no such promise and we will not be issuing any payment. Thank you for checking. - JW_

\-----------------

**Alexia Coffee Shop - Pasadena, CA**

Gadreel pulled his scarf a little tighter around his neck and adjusted his sunglasses as he waited at a sunny table near the door and nursed his coffee. He had studied Cain’s photo several times, but his photographic memory wasn’t very good and he wasn’t sure he’d recognize his visitor. So he had asked the man to carry a rolled-up magazine in his right hand to make him easier to spot.

Almost half an hour after the agreed meeting time had passed, and Gadreel was about to leave when he spotted the older man walk in purposefully, heading straight towards him. He sat down and seemed unconcerned about fitting in or ordering any coffee first.

“Could you be any more late?” muttered Gadreel.

“Probably. Parking is a bitch in this town.” Cain responded with a grin.

Gadreel shoved an envelope over to the insolent man. “Take this and put it away without counting. $3,000 cash, as agreed.”

Cain did, and Gadreel leaned back in relief. “As I said on the phone, if your name is spotted on any photos of the kids-”

“I know, I know. Is he paying off everyone this way? Because I wasn’t going to take him up on the offer until you called me.”

Gadreel nodded. “Next year the payment will be double, if you don’t break the agreement. Sign this form so he knows I gave you the money.”

“He doesn’t trust you?”

“Oh, come on. You know he doesn’t trust anyone. Sign and take the receipt so I can get out of here, please. I have a party to go to.”

“And this is legit? Why did he send you?”

“Do you see his signature down here? Yes, it's legit. It’s personal money so we aren’t exactly writing checks from the office. I’m just an accounting flunky who happened to be free this morning. You don’t exactly say no to John Winchester when he asks you for a favor.”

“I’m sure. That’s pretty much why I’m here, is it not?”

“You could say that.”

Cain signed, and Gadreel stood up and put the paper and receipt carefully back into his notebook. “Pleasure doing business with you. Until next year.”

Gadreel went back to his car and dialed Uriel.

“Three photographers down, three to go. Lucifer better give me a nice bonus for this one, considering the risk of doing this in my own hometown.”

Uriel chuckled a little. “Oh, don’t worry. The reward will be plenty. He’s going to be very pleased with you once he gets those receipts back.”

“Understood. My next meet-up is in two hours, then the last one is at four. Then I’m having some serious drinks after that. On you, of course.”

“Naturally.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, Uriel is up to some serious ungood right now. He's playing Gadreel AND Lucifer. 
> 
> I really hope you're enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it.


	30. Doubt

**Winchester Manor**

**Saturday Evening**

Man had never invented a more useful thing than a Jacuzzi bathtub, at least in John Winchester’s opinion. It could refresh a mind, body, and soul all in one fell swoop, almost without fail.

Except for today, which was a Jacuzzi fail kind of day. Even his best whiskey wasn’t helping, which was even worse. He probably should feel guilty for avoiding Dean, but his conscience was kept in check by the fact that he was only protecting his son by taking more time to calm down. Not that he’d succeeded yet. It had been over a year since Dean’s last attempt to dodge his guards went so wildly wrong. Would the boy ever learn his lesson?

An hour of soaking in the tub did nothing, so John finally got out and got dressed to head downstairs to Benny to let him know the family would be be going out for dinner soon.

\--

Sam huffed and reach out to pull Dean’s blanket off of him. “Come on, you can’t just mope all night. Let’s watch a movie.”

Dean snatched the blanket back and pulled it up to his chin. “Stop it, Sammy. I have to tell you something,” he blurted suddenly. “You know I’m really sorry for what happened at lunch, right? Do you forgive me?”

“ _Yes_ , I said I did. What-”

“I’m really sorry.” Now the waterworks started, and Dean didn’t try to hide it. He was absolutely miserable for a hundred reasons, although Sam was only aware of a few of them. “I’ve been...such a  _dick_  lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everyone hates me. Even Uncle Cas.”

“What makes you say that?” Sam asked in surprise.

“Why else would he turn me in for going to his house?” Dean sniffed. “Of all people.”

Sam smiled a little. “Because he knows dad would kill him if he didn’t.”

Dean felt on the edge of a nervous breakdown suddenly. “Dad’s going to take away my license, and he wants to send me to boarding school in Palm Springs. Alone.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Sam scoffed.

“Yes, he does.” Dean reached over to his nightstand and handed his brother the brochure. “Look. He said he already put in an application.”

Sam flipped through the colorful booklet wordlessly, then said after a minute, “Dean...it kind of looks...awesome. I want to go!”

“You have to be thirteen. And I know it looks amazing,” Dean admitted reluctantly. “I want to go. But not without you.”

“Yeah, right. That’s the reason you  _want_  to go. I’m not stupid”

Dean snatched the brochure away and sat up angrily. “How can you say that?” he exclaimed hotly.

John chose this unfortunate moment to emerge from the third-floor stair landing, where he could hear the boys clearly arguing. He quickened his pace to reach Dean’s room.

“Are you kidding?” Sam retorted. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been trying to get away from us for months.”

“No I haven’t. Shut up.”

“You shut up!” Sam shot back. “Dad’s been on your case forever for being a dick to me. You should go. It would make two people happy, at least. Me and dad, because we won’t have to put up with your shit anymore.”

Dean was devastated and angered by this attack, and he lunged forward to knock Sam to the ground. Not hard, but it was enough. In return, Sam jumped up and shoved Dean into the wall just as John appeared in the doorway.

“Stop!” shouted John as he dashed in and grabbed them by the upper arms, jerking them roughly to their feet. “Sam, I’m incredibly disappointed in you.”

“He shoved me first!” Sam retorted.

“I don’t blame him. What you said was downright cruel. Your brother was trying to make amends and you just...you know what, I can’t do this right now. Get in your pajamas and go to bed.”

“But it’s only six o’clock-”

“Exactly. And you’ll go hungry tonight, too. In bed,  _now_!”

John turned to Dean after Sam had made his sullen exit. “He was right about one thing, Dean. You  _have_  been a dick, there’s no denying that. But the fact that he didn’t accept your apology doesn’t diminish your efforts to make it right. I’m proud of you. Are you listening?”

Dean nodded and wiped his nose, amazed and warmed by what he was hearing. His father hadn’t told him he was proud of him in...well, forever. “Yes. Thank you, dad. Does this mean you’ll stop ignoring me?”

“I’ve been  _avoiding_  you,” corrected John, “because I was afraid I’d lose my temper and need to calm down some more. Still mad, you know.”

“I know. But can you just  _not_  be mad anymore? Because I can’t handle you both yelling at me.” Dean wiped his eyes again, and John’s heart softened a little. But he still wasn’t ready to forgive. Not even close.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Right now, we need to have dinner. What do you want?”

“Nothing. I’m not eating until you forgive me.”

John’s eye twitched a little in annoyance at that. “Fine. Go to bed, then. We’ll see how you feel at breakfast.”

\---------------

Dean was unable to fall asleep with such an early bedtime, so after an hour of tossing and turning he snuck over to Sam’s room to check on him. He was wide awake, too.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean whispered. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too early. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Maybe because my ass is on fire and I’m starving?”

Dean’s heart fell. He had been hoping their dad wouldn’t be too hard on Sam, but as usual, that hope was in vain. “Sorry. That’s why I came over.” He pulled a Snickers out of his pocket and shoved it into his brother’s hand. “Here. Don’t tell dad.”

Sam sat up and tore the wrapper off like he hadn’t eaten in a month. “Oh my god, thank you.”

Dean waited in silence while his brother pondered the treat, and his heart fell a little for the third time today as he watched the 11-year old’s joy in the dim light of the moon. They may not always get along, and they were so utterly different in almost every imaginable way, but…

“I can’t eat this,” Sam said suddenly, and he handed it back to Dean. “Dad said I have to go hungry tonight. But thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“He’ll never know.”

“Yes he will. And my butt’s already blistered from being a dick to you, so I need to be good.”

“Oh, so you admit it?” replied Dean with a cheeky grin. “That you were being a dick, I mean?”

Sam wanted to laugh, but he wasn’t in the mood. “Yeah. I’m sorry for being mean. I wouldn’t be happier without you. Dad, maybe, but not me. Definitely not me. I don’t want you to go.”

Dean swallowed hard and felt his eyes stinging. Before he could reply, his heart lurched at the sound of his dad’s voice from the doorway.

“Dean.  _Out_.”

John crossed his arms as they reached Dean’s room and the teenager got back in bed. “What were you doing in Sam’s room?”

Dean wanted to lie so badly. He never wanted to lie so much in his life, actually. But he didn’t.

“I went to check on him, then I gave him a candy bar because he was hungry.”

“Did he appreciate it?”

Dean hesitated in surprise, not expecting that line of questioning at all. He held up the Snickers. “Yes, but he wouldn’t eat it. Didn’t want you to be mad. Dad, I’m sorry. Please don’t be upset at him, he didn’t ask me for anything.”

John took a few steps towards his nervous son and took away the candy bar. “I would never be upset at you for caring about your brother, but this is the last thing you should be giving him. He’s hyper enough already.”

“Sorry, dad.”

“Listen, Benny ordered enough food for three because I forgot to tell him you guys were in bed. Want to come down and join me? It’s from Cheesecake Factory.”

Dean nodded, although he wasn’t actually sure if he did or not. “Only if I can take a plate to Sam, though.”

John gave in, just as Dean expected. He couldn’t justify starving his boys no matter how mad they made him. He had made them skip breakfast or lunch once in a while if they were really getting on his nerves, but never dinner.

“Alright. Come on.”

—————-

 

**Gabriel’s House**

“Gabe, you can’t be serious! You agreed without asking me? Like four kids aren’t enough already?”

“I know, but the way he was talking to Dean, I just...I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.” Gabriel put his arms around his wife. “You know John will pay for all of their supplies, and do whatever he can to support this. We can’t let the boys be separated. You’re so good at this home schooling thing, and they will feel so lucky to have you. I would hate to think you don’t want to teach them.”

“I’m not upset about teaching them. I’m upset you agreed to it without a word to me, and not only that...why  _exactly_  do you idolize John Winchester, again? I’ve never understood it. He treats his kids like shit, and with the way he’s been treating you and Castiel recently-”

“Amelia, stop. I’m not going to fight with you again. I told you, we got through it. We’re good. He’s even back to taking my advice, although I’m not sure how long that will last.” He hugged his wife tighter and kissed her a few times on the neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first,” he murmured into her hair. “I actually didn’t think he was serious until all of a sudden it became a critical turn in the conversation.”

Amelia sighed, giving in quickly to her well-meaning husband. She never could stay mad at him for long.

“Alright. You meant well, but next time you’ll be removing my foot from your butt if you do something like this again. I’m serious.”

“I know. Thank you.” Gabriel kissed her again, then twice more.

\-----------------------------------------

Father and son didn’t say anything notable through dinner, but while John was unpacking dessert from the to-go bags, Dean suddenly let his guard down.

“I want to go to the boarding school, dad,” he blurted quickly.

The knife that had been sinking into the disgustingly sugary Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Cheesecake halted its course abruptly.

“Are you sure?” John asked, his throat suddenly dry as sand.

“Yes, sir. I’m really sorry for what I did. It won’t ever happen again.”

“Apology accepted. You can pack in the morning, then. Your suitcases are in the pool house.”

Dean studied his dessert for a moment. “You ordered my favorite cheesecake! It’s not even my birthday.”

“Close enough. And now since you won’t be here for your birthday, we’ll just celebrate it early.”

Dean looked almost ready to cry as he picked up his fork. “Thanks, dad.”

“You’re welcome.”

Until this moment, there was nothing more that John wanted than getting Dean out of the house, but suddenly he hated himself inside and out for making that stop in Palm Springs.

\--------------------------------

**SUNDAY**

It was such a relief to be back together with Gabriel and Castiel that John could almost forget the misery of being in church. The world felt so much safer and smaller when he was sandwiched between them, although the desire to chat them up the entire time was nearly irresistible. It took all of his willpower to keep his mouth shut.

The sermon happened to be focused on the obligations of parents to discipline their children. It couldn’t have been a more timely lesson, but it was also spectacularly uncomfortable under the circumstances. John felt Dean’s eyes on him from the balcony in several relevant places, but he succeeded in not returning the eye contact until the very end.

_...our own failings can be given retribution through trying to prevent our own behavior from happening again. But that can be destructive if not acknowledged and controlled. Parents, if you are hard on your children, be certain you are acting with compassion instead of guilt. Children, if your parents are hard on you, I would also ask that you act with compassion instead of anger. Discipline is love, and lack of discipline shows an unforgivable careless attitude towards your future._

John turned his head to look at Dean, who locked eyes with him.

_To be grateful for correction is to acknowledge and know you are loved, and being loved by others makes it that much easier to love yourself. So appreciate the opportunity to make things right, and know you have already received a gift...a chance to be forgiven._

The sermon ended a few moments later. John swallowed back his emotion, stood up quickly and made a beeline for the lobby, totally ignoring Rufus’s mad dash to catch up with him.

Dean was the first one down the stairs, and he ran up to his father and threw his arms around him.

“I’m sorry, dad. I love you,” he murmured into his jacket.

John pulled him into the little alcove behind the stairs, then hugged him back tightly. “I love you too, Dean. It’s okay, shhh.”

Sam now appeared, bewildered at what he was seeing. He was too young to understand the depth of what had occurred, and all he cared about at the moment was breakfast. John threw a look at Lisa and she shooed Sammy away and out into the car. Benny then took her place, shielding them from view entirely from the rest of the congregation.

“Dean,” John said gently after a minute. “Are you alright?”

“Mmbmhmdfgm,” mumbled Dean; his face being smashed into John’s chest didn’t allow for much more of an answer than that.

“What?” John pried him off and looked at him up and down. His expression was peaceful.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

Dean stood up straight and nodded at his father. “I’m sure.”

John smiled a little. “Okay, kiddo,” John replied after a moment as he patted Dean’s shoulder and gripped it for a few seconds. “We gotta get you home to pack. We’ll leave for Palm Springs at 3pm.”

John turned around to Benny, who was trying his best not to show his concern for Dean.

“We need to make a brief stop at home to drop Dean off, then to the brunch. Give me a minute.”

He walked over to Cas, who was standing alone. There was no sign of Gabriel, who must have bolted at the first opportunity in order to watch a game.

“Cas, are you heading home?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ride with you? Need to talk, and it’s rather urgent.”

“Sure. Come on.”

John directed Benny to leave for the house and then got in Cas’s car, immediately instructing Rufus to roll up the privacy window.

“Listen, Cas...I...this is tough for me to admit, but I’ve seriously fucked up. Again. Need your advice.”

Castiel looked instantly concerned. “What?”

“Well, yesterday I got a call on my second cell from an Opportunist who wants me to pay him for some information. But that’s not what I’m upset about. He knew I was going to meet Lucifer in Las Vegas, and…”

“And what?”

“He told me very seriously to watch my back and not get friendly with Lucifer. He’s obviously trying to worm his way into my good graces and help himself. But I believed him anyway.”

Castiel thought about it for a moment. “So what did you do?”

“Nothing, at first. Told him to lose my number. Wait, forgot to mention that Lucifer asked to meet me in San Diego on Wednesday, by the way.”

“Okay. I don’t see the part where you did anything wrong.”

John closed his eyes for a moment. “Yet. Not finished. I couldn’t sleep after that warning. It got to me, bad. Like, paranoia-off-the-charts bad. So at like 3am I wrote to Lucifer and basically told him to fuck off, in so many words. Told him I wouldn’t meet with him, now or ever.”

Castiel froze, his face draining of color. “John, what the hell.”

“I know, Cas. I know.”

Castiel looked away, and John could feel the disappointment radiating off of his friend.

“What exactly did this caller say? Tell me everything.”

John repeated the story of how the caller at first said he was a photographer, then a disgruntled employee, then just a man who could help him get in touch with someone in the government, while Castiel listened with a pained expression.

“Okay, John,” he said, with a slight edge to his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with heeding his advice to be careful with Lucifer. I don’t think you’re wrong to be paranoid. But...first of all, get rid of that damned phone. Never answer it again because all the wrong people now have it in their hands, and who knows what they’re up to now.”

John nodded, realizing that was excellent advice. “Okay. I will. Destroyed as soon as I get home.”

“Secondly, you need to apologize to Lucifer and meet with him in San Diego. Thirdly, you have to tell Michael. This person could be the same guy that’s been calling the emergency line since Christmas. And lastly...you’re really not going to like this one, to be honest.”

John closed his eyes in pain. “I already don’t like  _any_  of this, so why stop now?”

“You need to seriously consider getting rid of all our double agents. I can only-”

“No.”

“John, you-”

“I said no. End of discussion.”

Castiel turned bodily towards him, expression hard. “No, John. I don’t accept your  _end of discussions_ anymore. I thought we talked about this; it was one of my conditions of coming back to work for you. So yes, we  _are_  going to discuss it. With Gabriel, in fact, the day I return to the office. I’ll have him send a meeting invite.”

John was speechless. He wasn’t used to Castiel talking back to him, to say the least, and was so confounded that all he could manage in return was a deadly glare.

“You can glare at me all you want, John. It doesn’t change the fact that you agreed to this.”

John finally nodded and looked at his BlackBerry. Calmly he said, “I’ll send the invite now. Gabe and I are open at 4pm that day.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replied coolly. “And you need to apologize to Lucifer and agree to meet with him. Whether it’s in San Diego or Las Vegas or whatever, I don’t care. Just do it.”

John’s nerves were shot, and he didn’t have any fight left in him. “You’re right. I will. But I’m not going to tell Michael about the call yet. I want to see what Lucifer says about it first.”

Castiel nodded. “Agreed.”

John took a bottle of water out of the console and downed half of it in one gulp, suddenly overwhelmed with the idea that maybe it was a really bad idea to have agreed to let Castiel and Gabe have so much control over his decisions. They weren’t exactly on the same page lately.

“Cas,” he said quietly, almost sadly. “I am the final say, and always will be as long as I’m in charge. I hope you know that whatever I decide in the future, with or without you and Gabe...it’s always with good intentions. _Always_.”

“I know that, John,” Castiel replied quietly.

“That’s reassuring,” John sniped facetiously.

Castiel did not respond, and they said nothing more on the way to the house.


	31. Turnabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a chapter with a happy ending. Awwwww.

**Hilton San Diego & Opportunists Headquarters**

**Monday Morning**

“What the hell do you make out of this email John sent me on Saturday night?”

Uriel flinched, glad that Lucifer wasn’t in front of him to see the gesture. “So it’s _John_ , now. Not Winchester?”

“Just read it. Says he doesn’t want to meet with me anymore.”

While the line went silent, Lucifer got up and went to raid his hotel’s minibar, although it was only 11am. He didn’t really care about the clock, anyway, seeing how time didn’t care how he felt towards his again-bitter rival.

Uriel read it twice, and then smiled to himself. “What got his hackles up, I wonder?” Secretly he was glad for the tiff, but he’d never say that. The thought did briefly occur to him that maybe one of the photographers Gadreel paid off had somehow gotten back to Winchester, but then he dismissed that fear. It would make no sense, considering they thought the money was coming from him in the first place.

“Hell if I know. He’s supposed to meet me for dinner in two days. No idea what caused this total turnaround, and he didn’t call me at 10am this morning. I won’t tell Michael, though. Not yet. If you think of anything that could have caused this-”

“I’ll let you know, boss. Try to enjoy your vacation in the meantime.”

“Yeah. You hear from Gadreel again?”

“Not a peep,” Uriel lied, having just hung up with him moments before Lucifer called.

“Good. Well I’m off to see some damned aircraft carrier or something. You know how my son is crazy about boats. Keep in touch.”

“Will do.”

Uriel hung up and tried not to laugh out loud. Then he went back to studying the government’s many regulations on what exactly constitutes sedition and treason.

\--------------------

 

**Insurrectionist HQ**

**Also Monday morning**

“Gabe, don’t give me a hard time about this one,” John complained pre-emptively.

“Actually, I was going to agree with you,” Gabe responded quietly from his spot in one of John’s “electric chairs.” It always unnerved him to be called in the office like this, but as far as he could tell, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Neither had Charlie, who was equally anxious about the reason for this summons.

“Me too, boss,” Charlie chimed in. “Changing the emergency number is not a big deal. I say we do it now, especially if someone got a hold of it as you suspected. I see no downside to it.”

John rubbed his face. “Or maybe it’s a moot point altogether, because Castiel wants to get rid of all double agents,” he blurted suddenly, feeling the rush of irritation surge back up again as he thought about it. “What do you guys think about that? Don’t look at each other, look at me. Tell me honestly.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t know offhand. What’s his reasoning?”

The fact that John didn’t know for once what Castiel was thinking did absolutely nothing to soothe his increasingly bad temper. “You tell me. You’ve been talking to him a lot more lately than I have.”

Gabe felt his own blood starting to rise, but he would never argue with John in front of Charlie. “We didn’t talk about that, though. Never even came up. I’m not sure what-”

“What else have you been talking about, exactly?” John demanded, and Charlie jumped a little.

“Mostly sports, John. And your new house, like everyone else in the neighborhood. It’s looking quite formidable in its final stages,” Gabriel replied easily in an effort to diffuse his boss. Obviously something was bothering him that he didn’t want to talk about, and although this mood was rare, everyone knew meetings like this inevitably ended in a nasty fight. Gabriel was determined to avoid that at all costs.

Charlie took a deep breath. “Mr. Winchester, I believe it’s because Lucifer has claimed he no longer uses double agents. We know Castiel doesn’t like to look bad in comparison to the Opportunists, especially after Ruby’s death. It’s only a matter of time before they find out what she was, and they’re going to sing it out the world.”

John looked at her for a moment, his anger put aside as he realized he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with Castiel’s second-in-command. “They already know, Charlie. I confirmed it some time ago.” He looked over at Gabriel with a hard expression. “Don’t even give me-”

“John, how could-”

“ _Don’t,_ ” John repeated, and Gabe closed his mouth hard. “What done is done, and I’ve already gotten my ass handed to me about it from Michael and Castiel about it. So just _don’t_.”

Charlie looked back and forth between the men. “Then why haven’t they made it public yet?”

“Because,” John replied with a huff, “they’re goddamned guilty of her murder, that’s why. If I hadn’t been banned from talking about it, I would announce it myself.”

“Let’s not and say we did,” Gabriel replied after an awkward pause. “John, why don’t you just tell us what’s really bothering you? I assure you we are here to help.”

John tapped his fingers on the desk and counted to twenty before he responded. “I suspect Lucifer is working with a double agent, that’s what. One of ours.” He looked at Charlie. “And I’m pissed at you for not yet being able to identify who the Opportunist was that that I allegedly spoke with before Christmas eve. You had three names, and you can’t pin any of them down as suspicious?”

Charlie looked crushed. “No, sir. We talked about this, and how I believe the caller was lying.”

“That’s not good enough,” John barked rudely. “Prove it to me. You only have a theory, but nothing to back that up. At least nothing you are willing to stand by for more than thirty seconds at a time!”

Gabriel stood up between them as if to physically break the tension. “Alright, let’s take a break. Charlie, give us a minute, if you please.” He glanced at John, daring him to contradict.

Charlie left, and then John stood up, too. “You need to go, too.”

“Not going to oblige at this particular moment, but I will shortly,” Gabe responded calmly as he sat back down. “Your theory on Lucifer working with a double agent is important and I want to hear what you have to say about it. Please tell me your thoughts.”

That did the trick nicely, and John crossed back to his chair with a resigned sigh and picked up a newspaper. “I should have never sent Dean to that damned boarding school,” he admitted bitterly. “Did you see the paper this morning?”

Gabe sat up straighter. “What? No.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the PR guy. It’s your goddamn job to be on top of these things before I am.”

“You need to calm down,” Gabriel answered quickly as he reached across the desk to grab the paper that John flipped over to him. “You know I was with my son at the doctor this morning and just got here a few minutes ago.”

John nodded contritely. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Gabe took a deep breath and looked at the bottom of page 2. It was a photo of John with a private plane - the one that Michael had forced him to take to and from Philadelphia - and the caption read: _Henderson, Nevada. John Winchester caught wasting his constituent’s money on short hops to scout elite private schools for his son, where he was spotted on a joyride to Lake Las Vegas and enjoying a scenic stroll around the lake with his favorite shunned right-hand man, Castiel Novak. One must wonder what the bill looked like for this excursion, and perhaps demand to know who paid for it._

Gabriel took a deep breath. “What the fuck?” he wondered in awe. The media had been unkind to him before, but this was a spectacular new low. “Who the hell wrote this?”

“Anonymous,” growled John. “But I guarantee you it was goddamned Meg Masters. It gets worse. Read the front page.”

On the front of the politics page there was a distant, grainy picture of father and son carrying suitcases under a palm tree, accompanied by a bitter caption: _John Winchester drops his oldest son off Sunday at the most elite and stuffy boarding school on the West Coast, showing his constituents that if you can’t solve your problems buying off photographers, you always have other options to throw your money away! Perhaps here young Dean will learn there are actual, real-life consequences to vandalizing libraries and fighting in church, since his father seems equally as incapable of controlling his sons and his executives when required._

Gabriel was so offended that he didn’t know what to say, but John had several choice words as he snatched back the paper.

“Fucking Meg, I’m telling you. And Lucifer is orchestrating this. Castiel is coming back to work _now_. I’m not waiting until January 26.”

“Michael isn’t going to like that,” Gabe breathed heavily.

“Fuck him, too.” John picked up the phone and dialed Cas, who picked up milliseconds before it should have gone to voicemail. “Hey. I need you back to work ASAP. Charlie’s not cutting it and shit’s hitting the fan. Can you come in tomorrow?...Why not?...I don’t give a damn what he thinks, it’s my decision. Cas...you know what, come in tomorrow, or don’t come in at all ever again. Yes, I’m serious.”

He slammed down the phone.

“John, stop it,” warned Gabriel sharply. “We’ve been through this before. The media will have their fun vilifying you for a few days, and then they’ll get bored and move on. You’re giving them exactly what they want right now.”

John threw him a dangerous glare. “I’m telling you, Gabe. Lucifer is working with someone on our side, but I don’t know who. We need to find out.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Gabriel angrily. “You haven’t said a thing to try to convince me of that, not even one _single_ thing. Help me out here.”

“I don’t know, Gabe,” John admitted. “I just have a feeling something’s rotten in Denmark.”

“Quoting Shakespeare, eh? Must be serious, then.”

“I am serious. There’s something else I need to tell you, and Cas. But you’re both going to think I’m out of my mind.”

Gabriel cocked his head. “I won’t, John,” he replied seriously. “Promise. What is going on?”

John reached back to his bar and grabbed a beer as he took deep breaths to calm himself. “It’s just that….well, Sam was on the house phone this morning while I was getting ready for work. Calling Dean to see how he was doing, because he couldn’t find his cell phone.”

“Okay.”

“And he said he heard a strange click.”

“....oh.”

“Yeah. And when I called Castiel just now, I heard the same thing. I’ve only heard it once before, and that was a few weeks back when Michael told me that a call between us was being recorded. Gabe, I think my calls are being monitored. Wires tapped. Whatever they call it. Why would that be? They - meaning the FBI - have to find cause for that. Get a warrant, et cetera. They can’t just do it willy-nilly.”

Gabriel let out a low whistle. “Okay, well...how about this, you call me tonight to talk about Sam’s first day of homeschooling and you listen for the click. If you hear it again, you might be onto something. For the record, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

John laughed without humor. “Well, you have more faith in me than I do at the moment.”

“I’ve always had faith in you, John. But to be perfectly honest, that’s not going to last long if you don’t pull it together and stop losing your shit without much provocation.”

John eyed him sternly, then put his beer back in the fridge without opening it. “You’re telling me to apologize to Charlie, aren’t you?”

“Yes. And Cas. And Lucifer, but don’t hate me for saying that.”

John grimaced. “I don’t hate you. Obviously I owe you an apology as well.”

“No, I’m good. Just...for god’s sake, be careful about what you say on your landlines from now on. And don’t miss any more calls with Lucifer.”

“Agreed. Thanks, Gabe. I got this. Let’s get back to work. Ask Charlie to come in here, please.”

 ---------------------------

**FBI Headquarters, Philadelphia**

**Monday Evening**

“Bela, he didn’t make his daily call to Lucifer today. But if we call him on it, he’ll know we’re tapping his lines.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, because Lucifer hasn’t reported it to me himself.”

“That’s strange. Maybe he called from his cell phone?” Bela sounded as distracted as she was; stepping into her dress for a date was infinitely more difficult with a cell phone in one hand.

Michael mulled that over for a while as he doodled in his notebook. “No. John’s too careful for that. The Insurrectionists record everything, and he wouldn’t want to go off the grid and have a secret conversation, as it were. You know how much he hates taking business calls on his cell.”

Bela shrugged. “True, but he’s done it before. Ask him about it when you next speak, but don’t call him specifically for that. I’m not going to let him get away with disobeying the mandate, period.”

  **Insurrectionists HQ**

John stared at his desk phone for another fifteen minutes without moving, then reached for his cell to call Cas.

“Hey, Cas. It’s been a hell of a day. I’m headed home. Wondered if you want to come over for dinner with me and Sam.”

Castiel sat up straighter at his desk, surprised and alarmed. John had never invited him over on a Monday night, which had always been his fiercely-protected family evening.

“Everything okay, John?”

John held back a grimace. “Yeah. Dean, you probably already know...he’s at boarding school.”

“Yeah, I read about that.”

 _Groan_. “Sam and I could really use the company to distract us from Dean's absence. Not that you're just a distraction, of course.”

“Sure, John. What time?”

“In an hour. Chef’s already preparing the food. You still vegan?”

“Yes. Don’t forget my tofu scramble and kale salad.”

That was an in-joke between them; Castiel was as carnivorous as anyone could possibly be and barely touched anything that resembled non-meat. John smiled briefly, then got serious again.

“You got it. Cas...please forgive me for being a dick this morning. I got my ass handed to me by Gabriel about it, and he was right to say I was completely out of line. Those two little blurbs in the paper set me off like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I believe it, actually. Your boys are supposed to be off-limits.”

John looked up to see Benny’s face hovering behind the glass panel. It was time to go.

“Can you come back tomorrow? Please?”

Castiel hesitated. “Did you clear it with Michael?”

“No.”

“Then, no.”

John sighed. “Fine. I’ll call him now. Stay on the line.” He had all but forgotten how to conference call, since his assistant always did it for him, but he somehow managed to hit the right combination of buttons and was relieved to hear the phone ringing to his FBI contact.

“Cas, you on the line?”

“Yes.”

“Good evening, this is Michael.”

“Sorry to call you so late. This is John Winchester and Castiel Novak.”

“Yes, John?” Michael sounded irritated.

“Listen, I want to run something by you real quick. I need to bring Castiel back into the office before January 26. Like, tomorrow. A lot going on. Do you see any problem with that, from your point of view I mean?”

There was a slight pause. “Not our jurisdiction at all, but thanks for asking. You may have to answer to your constituents, though. My guess is they’ll be really happy he’s back and not give you a hard time about it. Glad you called because I have a question for you, actually. Did you have your daily call with Lucifer today?”

John hesitated, wanting so badly to lie. So much that it physically hurt. “No. There was...no.”

Michael’s tone hardened. “You were given a mandate. Do we need to summon you again to drive the point home?”

John swallowed hard and flushed, hating being treated like a little boy about to get hauled over a knee, especially with Castiel listening in.

“No.”

“Call him now so I can honestly tell Bella you two spoke today. She’s going to ask me in the morning. Call me back and let me know it’s done.”

John sighed, a little too loudly for Michael’s liking.

“John? Would you prefer that I just-”

“No, no, sorry. Will do.”

“Good.”

He hung up, and Castiel breathed out his own sigh. “Jesus, John. Are you trying to get yourself-”

“No, I’m not. Listen, are you in for coming back to the office tomorrow, or not?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then I want you on this call with Lucifer, and all future ones as well. I’m going to dial him in. Wish me luck.”

\-------------------

**San Diego**

Lucifer lifted his head from the pool chaise lounge to peek at his vibrating phone, again. Literally the last person in the world he wanted to speak to, period, was calling him for the third time in a row.  He put down his margarita and flipped open the phone angrily.

“I’m on vacation, John. What do you want?”

“Uh...Lucifer, I’m sorry to bother you. I’ve got Castiel on the line with me, just so you know.”

“Okay. I repeat, what do you want?”

John cleared his throat and clenched a fist. “Well, since you told Michael I didn’t call you today, I have to call you now and be nice for ten minutes. What are you doing?”

“None of your business, and I didn’t tell Michael anything. Haven’t spoken to him in days, and I was perfectly content not hearing your voice today, either.”

“Oh.” John would have looked at Castiel quizzically, but he was by himself in his office, so he had to content himself with just staring at his hands. “Sorry for making an assumption. Anyway-”

“Did you tell Castiel about that friendly little email you sent me Saturday night?”

John swallowed hard, knowing that he was going to hate himself later for groveling to this man. “All about it, actually. Even read it to him. He was appalled, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. We’d like to come down to San Diego on Wednesday to have dinner with you, if the invite still stands.”

“It doesn’t. What else would you like to talk about, John? Maybe a movie you’ve seen lately? One you haven’t paid for in a cheap motel, that is. Eight minutes left.”

_Fuck._

“Lucifer, this is hardly constructive,” Castiel responded, and John’s heart lurched in dismay; he should have instructed the man to keep his mouth shut.

“Uh, Cas, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not,” Castiel replied easily. “Lucifer, you were right to be angry about the email. We all know that. So that’s at least one thing the three of us have agreed upon already. I’m sure there’s more where that came from, but we’ll never know if we don’t talk. You agreed to meet with John for a reason, and vice versa. Do you even remember what it was?”

“Of course I do. And it’s no longer relevant.”

“Why?” asked Castiel, genuinely curious.

 _Cas, I’m going to freakin’ kill you where you stand,_ John thought to himself angrily.

Lucifer paused. “Because...he obviously doesn’t trust me, and I don’t trust him. He doesn’t even trust _you_. So what’s the point?”

John broke in now, sweating profusely. “I do trust him, actually. But you’re right that I don’t trust you, Lucifer. I’ll tell you exactly why, and what led me to send that email, but only if we meet on Wednesday.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucifer demanded.

“I mean,” replied John quickly, “there was a reason I went off on you. A call I received with specific information, probably damaging to both of us, but you’ll never know about it if you don’t agree to meet. Period.”

There was a long pause, and John could hear the other two men breathing heavily.

Finally, Lucifer responded. “I don’t believe you,” he replied simply.

“Fine. I’ll let Castiel say it, then, since you have no reason to distrust him. Cas?”

Slight pause, then Cas’s gravelly voice. “He’s telling the truth, Lucifer. We need to talk. But perhaps not in San Diego, since you’re with your family on vacation.”

There was another pause, very long this time, and the sound of poolside calypso music invaded the line for about thirty seconds.

“Alright,” agreed Lucifer, albeit reluctantly. “Cafe La Maze at 6:30pm this Wednesday. It’s a private room on the third floor. Come without your guards.”

“No. My guards follow me everywhere except the bathroom,” John retorted. “And sometimes even then.”

“Of course. I meant no guards in the room while we’re meeting,” Lucifer amended. “I don’t talk in front of servers, either. Period.”

“Neither do I,” said John. “No problem. See you then. And I’ll ask Michael if we can cancel our calls for this week. He probably doesn’t know you’re on vacation.”

“Okay, thanks. See you guys Wednesday.”

The noisy line suddenly cut off, and John was left on the line with Castiel.

“John...I’m so sorry. You’re going to yell at me, aren’t you?” asked Cas in resignation.

“No, actually,” John replied, and he was surprised to realize that he had forgotten his earlier anger altogether. “You did good, Cas. Really good. Still want to come to my place?”

“Yes. You have to call Michael back first.”

“Ok, I will in a minute.” John took a deep breath, slightly shaky but calm. He felt emotional suddenly. “Hey, and...thanks for agreeing to come back early. I can’t do this job without you. I don’t _want_ to do this job without you.”

Castiel swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t even want your job at all, John. It’s a lot. The shit you put up with, and...I’m just really sorry about everything I did to make it harder for you. I hope you’ll forgive me someday.”

John laughed a little, though nothing was even remotely funny at all. “You know me, the world record holder for grudges. But I meant what I said to Lucifer. I do trust you. Just...don’t give me another reason not to, ever again. Because honestly I won’t come back from that a second time.”

“Okay,” Castiel replied quietly. “Deal. I better get up and get dressed.”

“You still in your flannel jammies?” John asked cheekily.

“They’re not flannel, they’re...John,” Castiel stopped himself and blushed as he realized he’d honestly answered the teasing question, and now his boss knew he was still in his pajamas after 5pm.

John laughed. “It’s alright, but I have to admit I’m just a little jealous. Yeah, put on some real clothes, please. See you in about twenty-five minutes.”

It felt good to hear John laugh, and Castiel was pleased, even if it was at his own expense. As usual.

\---------------


	32. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter where not much happens. Enjoy the brief calm, folks :D

John knew they had made a huge mistake leaving so late in the day for San Diego, and the terrible traffic confirmed his worst fears. They would probably be late for the dinner with Lucifer...no, strike that. They would _absolutely_ be late. But John wasn’t willing to call him yet, and he turned to Castiel to voice his frustration that the afternoon strategy meeting had gone over by half an hour.

“I told you multiple times to end it, John,” was Castiel’s bland reply. As usual, he refused to apologize for something that wasn’t his fault. John admired that in him immensely, but something in him wanted an apology anyway at times like this. It wasn’t fair, and he knew it. So he let it go and fumed silently to himself as they rolled through Dana Point almost an hour later than scheduled. Sam was riding along in the backseat, so there wasn’t any opportunity to talk business. Both of them were secretly glad for that, although they wouldn’t admit it.

John’s phone rang with a Palm Springs area code, and his heart lit up like a Christmas tree. He hadn’t talked to Dean yet since dropping him off at the new school, and neither had they exchanged any emails. Even Sam was rather silent on the matter; it almost seemed as if Dean had temporarily ceased to exist.

“John Winchester,” he answered lightly.

“Good afternoon, sir, this is Sonny at Elite Palms. I’m your son’s headmaster.”

“How can I help you?” John’s heart was now racing instead of glowing. “Is he alright?”

“Yes, sir. Perfectly fine. He got himself into a bit of trouble today, however, and normally I wouldn’t bother you with calling for something so minor. But our administrative officer says that you may have neglected to sign the corporal punishment opt-in form, and I just wanted to check that it was intentional. Again, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It’s alright, thank you for calling. Is he with you right now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Please hold for about 3 minutes, okay? Don’t hang up.”

John took a deep breath to calm his nerves, muted his phone, and tapped on the black glass, which immediately rolled down.

“Yes, sir?”

“Garth, I need you to pull over and have Benny follow us. Somewhere private.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam tapped his dad on the shoulder, his face twisted in worry. “Everything okay, dad?”

John smiled. “Yeah. You know Dean, probably couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. It’s fine. I just want to talk to him in private for a minute, okay?”

Two minutes later the cars pulled into the far reaches of a hotel parking lot, and John ordered everyone out and into the other car. Once he was alone, he unmuted his phone.

“Sonny? I’m sorry about that. Had to, uh, clear the room. Look, I didn’t miss the form. Perhaps I should have written _void_ on it or something. Sorry about that.”

Sonny cleared his throat. “Okay, sir, so just want to clarify that you’re opting _out_ of corporal punishment?”

He sounded surprised, so John couldn’t resist asking, “Yes. Is that unusual or something?”

“No,” Sonny replied, “it’s becoming less common, but...I only called because your son is the one who thought it was wrong. He seemed certain. Wouldn’t accept anything else.”

John smiled to himself a little. Dean should have been relieved, but he knew his dad too well.

“I see. Can you put him on the phone, please? I’d like to get the story from him directly.”

“Dad,” said Dean a moment later, in a very shaky and fearful tonel. “I’m really, really sorry. It was my fault and-”

John hardened his tone, although he felt no anger at all. “Dean, stop. We can exchange greetings first, you know. Haven’t spoken in days. Besides this, how are you, son? Liking the school so far?”

“No. Well, not at this moment, but I had been until today,” he answered tersely, his tone indicating tremendous levels of stress.

John gave up on the greetings attempt. “Okay, just relax. Tell me what happened.”

“I ditched class to go back to my room.”

“Why?”

“Dad...there was...I had a missed call from Sam, and I was afraid something was wrong with you. I had to call him back right away. I’m sorry. And then...”

“What?”

“Well, I intended to go to class after that, but I got sick. You know what I mean.”

The ulcers again. John’s heart fell to his knees, and anger rose in his throat because this meant Sam was in trouble, too. But that was another story.

“Are you taking your medications?”

“Yes, dad. I’m fine now.”

“Put Sonny back on the phone.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. Here he is.”

John sighed and tried to phrase his next statement in a way that wouldn’t make it sound like the tyrant that he really was on the inside when it came to protecting his sons.

“My son is not getting punished for this, period. He suffers from severe anxiety because of my job, and it leads to issues with his stomach. My other son is at fault here, and I’ll deal with him.”

“Sir, honestly I did not know that until just this moment. I would have never called you if I knew that.”

Now it was John’s turn to be surprised. “He didn’t tell you what was going on?”

“No, sir. He told a...well, a different story than that.” Sonny sounded horrifically embarrassed, and John felt sorry for him suddenly, especially because he had forgotten all about it himself, and there was no way anyone at the school could have known. His anger faded away rapidly.

“I’m sorry,” John apologized sincerely, hoping he hadn’t completely offended the man beyond repair. Then his next words caught in his throat a little as he realized how long it would be before he saw his oldest again. “Let me rephrase and soften what I’m trying to get across. Because of Dean’s, uh, medical issues, I don’t want him punished without me being notified _first_. Please call me anytime you need to. You won’t be bothering me, I promise. He’s my first priority. Can you please put him on the line again?”

“Sure. Here you go.”

“Dad, I’m really sorry,” Dean blurted. He was, or had been, crying at some point during this call.

“Calm down and breathe,” John replied gently. “You tell Sonny what you need to tell him, okay? He’s there to take care of you, and you need to let him. I’m serious. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Next time you lie, I’m not going to be opting out of anything. Did you actually talk to Sam?”

Dean sniffled. “Yes, sir. He just wanted to ask me how I’m doing.”

“Okay. We’ll talk on Friday night. I have to go. You gonna be alright?”

“Yes, sir. Love you, dad.”

“Love you, too. Behave yourself.”

He hung up and then got out of the car, which caused Benny to leap out of the passenger side of the other SUV to intercept him.

“I need to talk to Sam alone. Send him over, please.”

He got back in the car, and a few moments later Sam joined him solemnly. Once the door closed, John angrily lit him up.

“Why’d you disobey me, Sammy? I specifically told you not to call Dean during school hours, yet I just learned that not only did you do that, but you managed to panic him and-”

“Dad, stop! I know. I’m sorry.” Sam looked about to burst into tears. “I know what I did, please don’t yell. Did Dean get in trouble?”

John ignored that. “You and I will be having a chat when we get back to the hotel after dinner. Until then, I don’t want to hear another word from you. Nothing whatsoever. Got that?”

Sam nodded, looking completely petrified. “But did Dean-”

“Quiet. Get in the back row and don’t fuss around.” John got out of the car again, and this time Benny was already waiting a few feet away. “Let’s go,” he snapped as he caught Castiel’s eye through the windshield.

They all piled back into the car, and John irritably dialed Lucifer. He didn’t pick up.

“Lucifer, it’s John. Look, I’m really sorry. Had an incident with my son that caused us to stop on the way down, and with traffic like this we’re definitely going to be late. I don’t think we’ll get there until 7:30pm. Call me back. Thanks.”

“Everything okay, John?” asked Castiel very quietly.

“No. Dean had a freak out and then Sam lied to me, and…” he stopped when he saw the shocked look on Castiel’s face. “Sorry. Never mind.”

“It’s okay. You can-”

John’s phone rang; it was Lucifer calling back already. “Sorry, hang on. Yes?”

“John, it’s no problem. I’ll change it to 7:30. Where are you staying?”

“Hilton Torrey Pines.”

“Uh….that’s where I’m staying. Awwwwwkward.”

John wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not, but the remark and teeny-bopper tone was so uncharacteristic that he couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Uh, yeah. Guess I should have asked you first. Well, I’ve got my son with me so I’ll need to change it. No offense.”

Everyone knew John’s children were terrified of Lucifer. Even Lucifer himself. Nothing was worth the risk of running into him.

“None taken. I recommend the Lodge at Torrey Pines up the street. That’s where I normally stay on business. It should be available for just tonight. Ask for Brian, he’s the evening VIP manager.”

John found himself blushing hotly, and even squirming under these strange circumstances that had just turned Lucifer into his own personal travel agent. “Okay...thanks. I will give them a call.”

“No problem. You need to cancel your Hilton reservation though. See you at 7:30.”

John hung up the phone and the entire car was silent for a long time, because he didn’t feel like explaining to Castiel what had just happened, even though the man was throwing him curious looks for almost an hour.

Eventually John asked, “Garth, how far away are we from the restaurant?”

“About 15 minutes, boss.”

“Thanks. Sam?” John turned around to look at his subdued youngest son. “Sit up.”

“Why are you guys having dinner with Lucifer, dad?” Sam responded immediately, his tone angry. He had obviously been wanting to ask the question for a long time, and jumped at the first chance he had.

John raised an eyebrow at him while simultaneously berating himself for letting it slip who he had been calling. Damn it. “What have I told you a thousand times before, Sam? Say it.”

“Don’t ask questions about your work,” Sam muttered.

“Thank you. You’re going to eat with Garth and the guards because we don’t have time to stop at the hotel. While you’re waiting for your food, I want you to go into one of the private phone booths and call the Lodge at Torrey Pines and get four rooms with two beds each for tonight under Benny’s name. Ask for Brian directly and don’t talk to anyone else. I’ll give you my credit card. And once you have that done, call the Hilton and cancel our reservations under Benny’s name. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.” Sam was utterly gloomy, which didn’t surprise John at all, but he still felt compelled to give the boy something to do to keep his mind off his troubles.

“I’ll write down the numbers for you when we get to the restaurant. Then I want you to call Dean and find out when he’s available Friday night for both of us to call him together. Maybe ask him what he wants for his birthday so we can go out shopping for him this weekend.”

Sam only became gloomier at that, so John gave up the half-hearted attempt to cheer him.

“Also...no dessert or sodas tonight. Only because of the sugar. I can’t have you bouncing around the hotel room all night. We’re leaving at 5am.”

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh my _god!_ Okay.”

Castiel grinned sideways John, who winked back at him. Then his son laid down again, and the rest of the ride was peaceful.

\-------------

**Palms Elite**

After Sonny hung up the phone, he turned to his new charge and laid a wary eye on him.

“This could have all been prevented if you had just told me the truth, son.”

“I’m not your son,” Dean replied defensively as he wiped away the last of his snot and tears.

“Right, you’re not. My apologies. But you are my responsibility for the next five months, and I intend to take your welfare very seriously. Do you need to go to the medical center?”

Dean shook his head no. “I just want to call my brother.”

Sonny smiled a little. “Nobody’s stopping you, son- er, Dean. This isn’t a prison. Go call him all you want.”

“I can’t. There are five other people in my room. Can I call him from your office or something?”

“Oh, I see. You want special treatment.”

“Yes,” Dean replied defiantly as he raised his chin with pride. “I’m a Winchester, I can’t just be blabbing out family business all over the place.”

Sonny resisted the urge to laugh. “Dean, literally every boy here could say the same about their own famous family. You’ll have to cope somehow, and I promise you’ll survive. Now get going, I have work to do.”

Dean flushed with the grim knowledge that the very first time he ever tried to throw his name around, he failed miserably. Now he knew why his dad generally refused to do it...it was terribly embarrassing to get shot down in flames like this.

“Mr. French, I’m sorry,” Dean said quietly. Humbly. “I didn’t mean to be like that.”

“It’s okay,” Sonny said kindly. “Everyone tries that here at least once. Welcome to the club. The only special treatment you’re getting is my extra attention to your medical issue, which is more important. I fully expect you not to hide any problems from me again.”

“Yes, sir. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

\---------------

**Cafe La Maze, San Diego**

In just the last twenty minutes or so, Castiel and John had grown incredibly nervous about dinner with Lucifer, and as they climbed the stairs to the third floor John stopped and turned to Cas, lightly placing a hand on his chest to halt his ascent as well.

“I know you already know this, but it’s really important that we appear to be completely unified. If you disagree with me on something, keep it under wraps until later. And I’ll do the same for you. Agreed?”

“Of course. But John…”

“What?”

“Have to admit that I’m really nervous you’re going to say something you shouldn’t. In fact, I know you're going to. But please don't."

John smiled a little. “We talked about this already, remember? I’m going to be a good soldier. But how about this. If I say something you really think is beyond all reason and logic, kick me or something. Grab my leg. Let me know _discreetly_ so that I can change tack. Okay? I don't want this to be a disaster for either of us.”

Castiel frowned. “You want me to communicate my dismay by playing footsie under the table?”

“Yes. We can take it back to my hotel room later if it really turns you on. Now let’s go, we’re already an hour late.”

“For god’s sake, John,” Castiel muttered in resignation as he trudged up behind his boss.

\------------


	33. In Vino Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is Latin for "In wine, truth."
> 
> Usually translated as:  
> "What's on a drunk man's mind, is often on a sober man's tongue..."
> 
> Which for purposes of this story can be translated to:  
> The Insurrectionists, Part 33: John Winchester Fucks Up. Big Time.
> 
> **Please remember this is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE political story, laws and government are very different in this story than they are today in the USA...long story short, the Second American Revolution created a brand new government run by a central federal power AND two political parties, who are run by two men who have a lot of power but also a ton of responsibility. They are closely watched by the government and can suffer extreme consequences for screwing up (in big ways and small), because of the incredible power and trust vested in them by the president. That's all you need to know for now, cheers.**

**Cafe La Maze, San Diego**

Castiel hadn’t seen Lucifer in person in several years, and it appeared to him that the man had not aged one day since then. Or maybe just being on vacation was doing him some serious good. He tried not to stare as John shook hands first, and then he quickly lost the staring battle when he was next. His dislike for Lucifer had certainly grown by leaps and bounds since then, that much was for certain.

“Castiel,” cooed Lucifer in an overly-friendly manner, “you look much younger in person. But the TV adds years and pounds to all of us, I suppose.”

“Nice to see you, too,” a visibly insulted Cas snippily answered the backhanded compliment.

John butted in quickly before any permanent damage could be done - or at least, he hoped.

“Let’s uh, let’s sit down and take a look at the menu. I’m starving.” He elbowed Cas threateningly, and then threw a wary glance at Lucifer’s guards, who were staring him down like he had entered the room with a live flamethrower. Benny was doing exactly the same to Lucifer, and John didn’t like it one bit.

“A moment, please,” John said apologetically as he aborted his attempt to sit down and gestured to Benny, then followed him down the hallway to the edge of the stairs.

“Hey,” he whispered sternly. “I really don’t like the looks you’re giving Lucifer. Cut it out and go have dinner.”

“I hate this whole situation, John,” Benny replied in a sullen tone. “Are his guards leaving, too?”

“Yes, and I swear to god if there are is any confrontation whatsoever between you guys, I’ll hand down some serious consequences.”

Benny looked as hurt as a kicked puppy. “I wouldn’t do that, sir.”

“I know _you_ wouldn’t. Not sure about Rufus. These guys are thugs and will absolutely try to start something if given the chance, I’ve seen it. Don’t give in. Warn Rufus and Garth. And even Sam, if you please.”

“Yes, sir. But I’m not leaving you alone in this room with them. I’ll leave after his guards go first.”

John took a deep breath. “You’ll go now, and-”

“No, sir.”

“ _Benny_.”

“I said no, sir. Period.”

Against his inclination, John relented without another word and walked back to the dining room. The man was doing his job exactly as he’d been trained and knew full well he was in the right. And now Cas was throwing eye daggers at Lucifer, too. This was going to be a long evening.

“Lucifer, I think we can dismiss our guards now,” prompted John lightly, and the other man nodded and looked at them, pointedly including Benny in his sweeping glance.

“Of course. Gentlemen? You may go.”

Benny, of course, would never take an order from Lucifer if his life depended on it. He didn’t move a single muscle until John finally ordered the same, and even then he waited for the other men to go first, holding the curtain aside as they passed through to the stairs. John kept a watchful eye on the proceedings and could only finally breathe again once the door had shut without any sounds of a scuffle or argument.

Lucifer smiled slightly.

“Don’t worry, they’ve been thoroughly warned to be on their best behavior. Your man seems just as unhappy to be here as mine are.”

John nodded and sat down, feeling the blood rushing into his limbs again as he picked up his menu. “Well, I guess it’s nice to find some common ground right off the bat. Shall we start with a drink or five, gentlemen?”

\------------

 In order to stop the one-sided exchange of murderous looks from his chief of staff to Lucifer, John had to kick Castiel twice under the table before the first round of drinks even arrived. He finally got the message and joined in the small talk, albeit reluctantly and with no enthusiasm. Lucifer was showing no signs of aggression whatsoever and seemed to be trying really hard to be agreeable, so John quickly became thoroughly embarrassed by Castiel’s surly behavior.

After they had ordered their appetizers, John pushed away from the table and stood up. “Apologies, gentlemen. It was a long drive and we didn’t make any pit stops. Please excuse me for a moment. Cas, can you go down and check with Dean to make sure the hotel reservations are taken care of?”

“Of course,” Cas replied quickly, jumping to his feet and hurrying to open the curtain for his boss. He didn’t bother to correct him that it was Sam who was downstairs, not Dean. John must really be rattled to mix up his sons like that.

As soon as hit they bottom of the stairs, John latched on to Castiel’s upper arm firmly and all but dragged him into a nearby empty storage room he had noticed earlier.

“John, what the-” Castiel squeaked in surprise as his boss slammed the door shut and released him.

“ _Castiel_ ,” John growled, using his full name and dragging out the syllables for added emphasis, “if you were one of my sons I’d be taking my belt off right now to correct your manners.”

“ _What?_ ”

“If you can’t simmer down and represent us properly, I’m more than happy to ask Garth to take you to the hotel because you’re completely embarrassing me so far.”

Castiel was equally indignant now, but for entirely different reasons. “Did you even notice that his guards are carrying like five guns a piece? And there are four guards for one person, and only two of ours for _three_ of us?”

“Of course I did! It’s a power play. That’s Lucifer in a nutshell. If you can’t handle it, just go and I’ll manage this alone. I mean, what do you think is gonna happen? They’re going to start a shootout in the middle of a restaurant and assassinate us? This isn’t the mafia, Cas, and we aren’t mortal enemies. Settle down.”

Castiel didn’t look remotely convinced, and indeed, he wasn’t. “Fine. But we’re not staying at the hotel Lucifer recommended. I mean it, John. I’m putting my foot down.”

John blinked, realizing that was actually a reasonable demand, which calmed him. “Okay. If that’s what it’s going to take for you to relax-”

“That, and you not telling him where we’re really staying.”

John was tired, and he didn’t want to fight with Cas again. They had barely recovered from the last blowout, after all.

“ _Fine_ ,” John relented. “You pick the hotel, then. Don’t tell me. If I don’t know what it is, I can’t possibly tell Lucifer, can I?”

Castiel hesitated, then agreed with a quick nod.

“Go coordinate with Sam, _discreetly_. Then get your ass back upstairs and behave yourself, or we’re going to be having a very difficult conversation on the way home tomorrow.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Castiel fired back bitterly. He hated being talked to like a bratty teenager, and thankfully John caught his error instantly.

“Sorry, Cas,” he added hastily. “I’m...I should have phrased that differently.”

Castiel took a deep breath, then replied steadily, “Yes. But you’re right, I need to calm down.”

”Please do. We’ll get through this as long as we stick together. Okay?” John clapped him on the shoulder and ran back up the stairs, realizing as he sat back down that he still had to piss. Badly. _Fuck._

“Sorry, didn’t mean to leave you sitting alone.”

“That’s alright. You done ripping Castiel a new one?”

“What do you mean?” John lifted his huge wine glass and took a long swig to hide his expression. So much for hoping Lucifer couldn’t read him as well as he thought he could.

Lucifer smirked slightly but didn’t press the issue, thankfully. “I’m glad to see you two are on speaking terms again,” he replied simply. “I’m still battling on that front with Uriel. Good man, really smart, but he rubs me the wrong way on an hourly basis.”

“Hmmmm,”’John replied noncommittally, thankful for the distraction of his phone jangling loudly. It was Dean, so he sent it to voicemail and then shut off the ringer.

“Sorry, forgot that was on. Listen, I regret this meeting got off to a rough start. Castiel doesn’t care for the manner in which your guards are armed, and I have to admit that I share the same concern. It’s a bit unsettling.”

Lucifer actually laughed at that. “Ah. I see. Well, to each his own. You haven’t been attacked. I have.”

“I know.”

“Not that I’m afraid of _you_ , by any means. But San Diego isn’t exactly an Opportunist town.”

“I know,” John repeated, feeling suddenly ashamed of having mentioned the guards at all. Lucifer had been attacked and nearly killed at a restaurant just down the street almost two years ago by a rogue extremist claiming to be from John’s own party. Of course Lucifer would be worried for his safety, and rightly so. _Smooth move, John...you daft idiot._

Castiel came back in the room, thankfully, and Lucifer paid him no attention as he seated himself again.

“John, I’m under no illusions that this is going to be an easy discussion. Part of me...most of me...doesn’t even want to be here right now. I want us to start off by you telling me exactly what led you to flip out on me last Saturday. You said you received a phone call?”

John glanced at Castiel, who was calm again and wearing a blank expression.

“I did. One that I probably should have shared with Michael, but we can debate that later.”

“Okay. And?”

John hesitated and took a few sips of wine. “I know you’re aware that I was accused of trying to bribe some photographers. They were all Opportunists, and I had given them a secondary number of mine to call. Anyway, moot point now, but on Saturday a man called me and said…”

He paused for some time as two ladies appeared with the appetizers and more wine was poured.

When they left, Lucifer said with a small smile, “Don’t stop now, you’ve got me on tenterhooks.”

John swallowed hard. Nobody touched the food yet. “He said he got my number from one of those photographers. He knew about our planned meeting in Las Vegas, and told me not to trust you.”

“Okay. Which you already don’t. Then what?”

“Then…” John snuck another peek at Castiel, who seemed unperturbed by what was said so far. “Well, first he offered to give me the name of someone in the government who could push through one of my measures. For a price, of course.”

“Which one?”

“It...it’s not relevant. I’m getting to the important part.” John took a very deep breath, knowing there would be no turning back after this. “He said he works for you, and that he wants me to pay him for insider information so he can leave politics for a new life. He’s not an Insurrectionist, either. Hates both of us.”

Lucifer flushed and set down his wine glass. “Well. Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you get his number, by chance?”

John nodded.

“Okay. What do I have to do in order to get that number? Speak plainly.”

John reached into his pocket. “Nothing. It’s right here.” He handed him a slip of paper with the number, then held his breath until he was quite dizzy from the stress of giving over valuable information without getting anything in return.

Lucifer looked at it for a long time, but there was no recognition. At least not any visible signs.

He set it down, then reached over to the appetizers. His countenance was suddenly grumpy and very typically Lucifer.

“Alright, John. What are you playing at this time?” he asked somewhat rudely.

John gulped the last of his wine. “Excuse me?”

Castiel put in, “He’s not _playing_ at anything. What are you implying?”

“Cas,” John muttered, then to Lucifer he replied steadily, “I just wanted to give you a show of good faith to prove that I’m serious about us establishing a cooperative and mutually beneficial relationship.”

“It’s definitely a _show_ , for sure. This could be completely fabricated to trap me into something, and knowing you, I would most likely bet on it.”

John raised his eyebrows, then calmly helped himself to some calamari. It was just as likely that Lucifer was trying to entrap _him_ with the call, but he didn’t say that out loud.

“Well, you were right that this wasn’t going to be an easy discussion.”

Castiel was all but writhing in his chair, and John threw him another _settle down_ look.

Lucifer chuckled a little. “But if not, I have a traitor in my midst, eh? Big shocker.”

“You should be able to narrow it down easily enough,” Castiel mused thoughtfully, wisely heeding John’s unspoken warning. “How many people knew about the meeting in Las Vegas?”

John was shocked when Lucifer laughed again.

“This fellow who called you may not be as connected to me as he seems. My assistant, who has since been replaced, accidentally sent a company-wide email about the meeting, and I have 415 employees. Any single one of them could have told anybody in the world. But I assume you already knew that. So as far as narrowing it down goes, I might have better luck finding Jimmy Hoffa’s body.”

 _Well, shit,_ thought John. So much for impressing him with an intelligence freebie.

“I didn’t know,” he replied in a normal tone, fighting back the angry defensiveness that was shoving its way to the forefront of his mood. “But now you have a phone number to go on, at least.”

“True. Thank you for that. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“No problem,” John answered gloomily. “Anyway, his rather frantic insistence that I not trust you or meet with you set me off. I sincerely apologize for that email I sent afterwards. My rudeness was uncalled for.”

“Understood and forgiven.”

“Thank you.”

The conversation halted for several minutes as they all sampled the food, although John’s appetite was long gone and he had to force himself to pretend to be enjoying it.

“What measure?” Lucifer eventually asked, breaking the silence abruptly.

“What?”

“What measure did he offer to help you with? The government contact, I mean?”

“Oh. I’ve been trying for years to introduce legislation to make it illegal to profit off photos of minors. He wanted me to pay him for an introduction to someone who would help push it through. I have to admit that I seriously considered it for a minute.”

Lucifer refilled John’s wineglass for him as he spoke. “Yeah, don’t do that. Seriously illegal. Cole Trenton is who he meant. I will introduce you two by email tomorrow.” He winked cheekily at Castiel. “For free.”

Castiel was nearly as astonished as his boss at this unexpected generosity. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“Because such a law would also benefit my son, of course. Dean and Sam aren’t the only ones being harrassed by those vultures. Hell, I’ll back it myself, too. You should have come to me sooner, John.”

“Thank you,” John responded blandly, feeling out of sorts by the way Lucifer was completely dominating the discussion and making him feel like a misguided child.

“Speaking of vultures,” Lucifer continued pleasantly, “I’m curious why you didn’t invite Gabriel to this dinner.”

John flushed hotly at the reminder that there was no one who hated Lucifer more than Gabriel, and the feeling was unequivocally mutual. In fact, it was exactly like how Uriel hated John, and vice versa.

“I would assume for exactly same reasons you didn’t bring Uriel,” John replied politely.

“Ah. Touché.”

Lucifer was enjoying himself far too much; probably because his incessant ping-ponging between friendliness and contempt and back was making the other two men twitchy. Castiel cleared his throat abruptly, and John idly noticed he hadn’t touched his own wine. Smart man.

“Something on your mind, Castiel?” asked Lucifer with a completely straight face.

“Yes. John’s mystery caller apparently knows Cole Trenton. Does that help narrow down his possible identity any further?”

It was an excellent question, and John was annoyed at himself for not thinking of it first. He was too busy being distracted by Lucifer’s jabs.

“Hardly,” Lucifer replied sullenly. “Cole was one of my employees for five years. Very popular. Left about a year ago, and I’ve had very few new hires since then. A handful, at the most.”

 _Well, shit_...again.

“So now that we’ve had an exchange of valuable information, we’re even,” Lucifer continued casually. “We got off to a good start, as agreed, so now it’s time for the more difficult part of the discussion.”

A good start. Hardly. John gulped again, but this time it was water. “Very well. Anything in particular?”

“Yes. I want to know what it will take for you to stop throwing me under the bus at every available opportunity. I know perfectly well how you forced me into my final warning with the FBI. That really was some exquisite orchestration, John. My congratulations to your success.” He raised his glass in a mock toast.

John flinched, but forced himself to stay utterly diplomatic. “That was never my intention.”

“Sure. The second thing I want to discuss is how to get you to agree to recall all of your double agents. Permanently.”

Castiel looked ready to pass out from the strain caused by this sudden change in direction. Fortunately nobody could say anything for several minutes as the main courses arrived and plates laid down and cleared away.

When the room was quiet again, John spoke up. “On the first point, if it’s an apology you’re looking for, I’m afraid you’re going to be rather disappointed. I did what I had to do in order to protect the integrity of the investigation into Ruby’s murder.”

“Of course you did,” Lucifer replied pleasantly. Too pleasantly.

 _Way_ too pleasantly.

“John,” said Castiel suddenly, sounding a bit strangled. “May we speak in private for a moment?”

John looked at Lucifer, who nodded slyly, and the two friends got up and left the room again.

“John-”

“Hang on, I seriously have to piss. Just give me a second.”

“Okay. I’ll just wait here, then.”

When John re-emerged, they went back into the empty storage room.

“John, I was right. This meeting was a mistake. He’s making you look like a fool.”

“Oh, thanks a lot. Appreciate that.”

Cas met John’s eyes, searching for any trace of mischief or humor in them, and found none.

“Cas, he’s practically begging for a truce. He knows he’s fucked with me working against him. We could take massive advantage of this. I’ll say yes - make him grovel for it first, though - and then use this favor as leverage in the future to force him into cooperation on bigger matters.”

Cas felt a little sick. “Sounds like the old diabolical John. You’re trying to not be that person anymore, remember?”

“Think about it. The leverage we would have!”

“I _am_ thinking about it. This is _Lucifer_ we’re talking about. His only concern is protecting himself. And you’re literally letting him get away with murder if you agree to not push back on the Ruby investigation. He must be caught and punished, John, or else you’re seriously disgracing her memory to help advance your own interests.”

John was shocked and hurt by this callous assessment of his intentions. “ _Our_ interests. And ‘disgracing her memory,’ Cas, seriously? It’s completely unfair to place all that on my shoulders, especially after I fought so hard for justice!”

 _Justice_. Castiel still had serious reservations about the whole debacle, but he dared not reopen that old wound. So he said nothing, which to John was far more telling than an actual reply.

“Okay, let’s not go there again. But you’re still for getting rid of our double agents, correct?”

“As much as I hate to side with Lucifer on anything, yes I am.”

“Okay. I trust you feel that way for a very good reason, and I’ll tell him that I’ll seriously consider it, but it’s not going to happen. You know that, right?”

“So you’re just making that decision now, without any further discussion?”

John held firm, even knowing he was breaking his own promise not to make big decisions without the input of Cas and Gabe. “Yes. Are you going to be able to live with that?”

Cas nodded, but his chest felt tight. “Not happy about it, but you’re the boss.”

“Is that a yes, or a no?”

“Yes, I can live with it.”

“Good. Thank you. There’s one more thing, and I don’t want you to read into it or get all flustered. When we’re wrapping up this meeting, I will ask you to go downstairs and have Garth pull the car around. Just go, without argument. Okay?”

Cas suddenly looked as dismayed as a cat being forcibly bathed, and John suppressed a frustrated sigh.

“Why? You...you _want_ to be alone with him?”

“Just for a minute. There’s something I have to tell him that’s highly confidential. Just do it. Okay?”

Cas shrugged. “Obviously I have no choice.”

—-

The second half of the dinner was similar to the first half, and John was becoming thoroughly worn out by his complete inability to read Lucifer. He considered himself a master people reader and therefore wasn’t used to this situation, nor was he used to anyone being able to read himself as annoyingly accurate as Lucifer could.

It was incredibly strange that they had the opposite experience with each other over the phone, where John always had the upper hand and could correctly anticipate Lucifer’s every response. In person, however, he felt utterly blindfolded and clumsy. It wasn’t like this back when they were last together in Philadelphia a few weeks ago, nor the time before that.

How the tables had turned, and John had no clue why that was.

Soon after dessert was finished - probably too soon - John decided to call it a night, citing their extremely early departure time back to Los Angeles.

“Castiel, will you kindly go ask Garth to pull the car around? I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied formally, to John’s quiet relief, and all three men stood up at the same time. Lucifer was the first to extend his hand.

“Good to see you again, Castiel. Until next time.”

“Safe travels.”

Then he was gone, and Lucifer turned to his rival with an audible sigh.

“Having that man in the same room increases my blood pressure by about 30 points. Does he have that same effect on you?”

John shook his head. “Quite the opposite, actually. That’s why I insisted he be here.”

They sat back down, and the old Lucifer John was used to suddenly revealed himself.

“So. That conversation was more difficult than I anticipated. But I think we found common ground on a few surprising points, and no surprises on those things we’ve always disagreed about and will continue to clash over.”

John took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to ask.

“Right. Uh, there was one subject I didn’t bring up because it’s rather testy. Castiel and I have clashed on it a number of times before. Are you aware that our government is planning to bring back public flogging?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask how you feel about it?”

“Against it, as you are.”

John was confused for a moment. “How did you know I was against it?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. But that’s not even the worst of my worries. Are you aware that it’s been proposed that indentured minors should be castrated at age 16, and muted at the first sign of dissidence after age 18?”

John gasped, feeling truly sick to his stomach suddenly. “What? No. Holy fuck. What kind of country are we becoming? When did this come up?”

“Yesterday. You really need to join the public policy briefing calls once in a while.”

John took another huge swig of the wine he’d been avoiding for the past hour.

“I will from now on. Gabriel always does them, but we haven’t connected in a couple days.”

Lucifer shrugged. “Might want to hurry. The measures will probably be on the March 1 ballot. You know as well as I do that once something passes, we can’t touch it with a hundred-mile pole. If you want to work together on those two new issues, I will, but I’m not stupid or reckless enough to dare protest what is already law, so we have to move fast.”

Indeed, even openly discussing fighting a passed law was nearly treason in itself, and it was deeply ingrained within both men that such matters were utterly beyond their control for ten years, after which new measures could be proposed to replace them. After all, the laws had been passed with the votes of their very own constituents in the first place. If things went south, the failure lay on their own shoulders for not leading their parties in the right direction.

“Well,” John said, sweating a little, “Yes, I absolutely want to work together with you on it. But I might have a slight problem. Castiel and Gabriel don’t feel the same way I do about such matters. And you know that my constituents overwhelmingly favor more severe measures for criminals than I do. Than _we_ do, rather.”

Lucifer nodded. “Yes, I know, and that’s why I’m continually surprised that your superdelegates keep electing you.”

That wasn’t meant as an insult or a slight, John knew. It was simply the truth. He thought for sure he would never be elected again after several ugly, public feuds with his delegates - and even his own executives - over the more severe indentured servitude measures.  But somehow, he was still here and more popular than ever. It defied logic.

“So...are you saying you want to work with me even against the wishes of your chief of staff and PR guy?”

John shook his head. “Of course not. I would prefer to try and align them with me. If I can’t do that...I don’t know what to do then. I can all but guarantee there’s going to be a huge fight. My constituents can be huge assholes. So can my executives. Lately I feel like...like I’m leading the wrong party, to be honest.”

He stopped himself cold, not even being able to register the horrible words from his own mouth. While that's exactly how he’d felt for several months since the October 1994 vote had gone awry, he certainly had not meant to admit such a thing to anybody. He’d barely even accepted it himself, so why the hell did he just blurt it out to _Lucifer_ , of all people?

_Jesus fucking Christ..._

Lucifer must have been incredibly surprised by such an admission, but he didn’t change expression at all. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. I know what you really meant. I clash with my own constituents sometimes, too.”

John stood up, heart pounding. “Fuck. Too much wine,” he lamely declared. “I need to go. The bill is paid, right?”

“Yes. Just relax.”

“This dinner was a mistake. This meeting. We’re never doing it again.”

“John, don’t panic. I know what you meant. I’m not going to-”

 _Holy fuck_ , John whispered to himself as he left the room abruptly and all but flew down the stairs to the safety of his entourage.

“Which car is Castiel in?” he asked Benny, who was waiting stiffly at the exit.

“The front car.”

John got in the rear car, where Sam was sound asleep on the front bench. He climbed over him and into the back row, noting that Lucifer’s five guards were all out front, watching the party’s departure closely and with some apparent amusement.

“Let’s go, Garth. Quickly, but don’t peel out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Everything go okay, boss? A little concerned about this hurried departure.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks Benny. I just realized how late it was getting, that’s all.”

John went to take off his tie, but his hands were trembling too much to manage, so he gave up and leaned back with his eyes closed, trying to breathe again. Benny was watching him through the mirror, but John couldn’t see the deep concern and alarm on the man’s face.

_Your transparency will be the death of you, John..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, John just basically told his biggest enemy that he didn't believe in his own party anymore. 
> 
> He actually went and did that.
> 
> And thus the fall begins...hold on to your saddles, cowboys and cowgirls.


	34. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after leaving the restaurant. John just inadvertantly told Lucifer he doesn't support his own party anymore, and he's mad at himself.

**On the way to Carlsbad, same evening.**

“Sorry, dad,” Sam said sleepily as the car pulled onto the freeway with a lurch.

John opened his eyes to find Sam peering cautiously through the headrest at him.

“Sorry for what?”

“Stealing your seat.”

“Don’t be silly. Where are we staying, anyway? Do you have your seatbelt on?”

“Yeah. The Omni in Carlsbad.”

“Good. Nice place. As soon as we get upstairs I want you in bed.”

“So...we’re not having a _chat,_ then?”

John was so wildly distracted and depressed that he couldn’t even recall what his son had done wrong, and he wasn’t about to ask.

“No. You’re forgiven.”

Sam’s surprise and relief was palpable, and he melted into the words and laid his chin on the seat, looking backwards at his dad with curious, wide eyes. “Thank you. Are you okay?”

“Yup. Just a little too much wine making me queasy.”

“Gross. Don’t barf on me, dad.”

Now John smiled as he reached out to ruffle Sam’s mop of hair. “I won’t. Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“Yeah, and Garth let me have a bite of his cake.”

John eyed his driver in the rearview mirror. Normally the man’s semi-horrified expression would make him laugh, but not now. Nothing on earth could make him laugh at the moment.

“It’s not nice to tattle, Sam.”

“Just being honest.”

“No, you’re being a tattle-tale. Don’t be that.”

“Okay, sorry. Oh I forgot to tell you, Dean tried to call you but I told him you were busy. He wants us to call him at six on Friday.”

Now he had John’s full attention. “You didn’t tell him who we were with, did you?”

“Of course not, dad. I’m not a tattle-tale.”

John grinned. “Of course not.” He saw Sam shiver and immediately took off his own jacket. “Here, put this over you. Garth, can you turn down the a/c a bit? It’s January, you know.”

“Sorry, sir. About the cake, too.”

“No harm done.”

Sam laid back down and was soon asleep again. They arrived at the hotel about twenty minutes later, and John climbed back out over his youngest, poking him as he went.

“Hey, you’re too old to carry. Up.”

Sam didn’t respond, so Benny reached in and lifted him out, still partially covered in John’s jacket. Castiel then appeared, dutifully rolling his little royal blue suitcase that went everywhere with him. He silently followed John and Benny to the elevator, obviously hoping to hear how the meeting ended.

“Thanks, Cas. You did good tonight,” John said graciously after the elevator doors closed.

“You, too. Your restraint was...admirable.”

Admirable, indeed. Up until the last 30 seconds, anyway.

“And exhausting. We’ll talk tomorrow on the way home.”

John always insisted on connecting rooms to their guards, and was relieved to see that Sam had arranged for exactly that even though he forgot to mention it. Of course. He was a good kid, and smart.

Benny carried Sam to the bed and covered him up just as John collapsed into his own bed.

“Aren’t you gonna tuck me in too, Benny? Tell me a bedtime story?”

The big man grinned. “There once was a man from Nantucket, who told the big boss to go f-”

”Alright, alright. Forget it. Go to bed.” 

Benny laughed and disappeared into his room.

Despite John’s exhaustion and the effects of the wine, he never managed to fall asleep.

There was so much to think about and do before the March 1 vote. He couldn’t believe such drastic, draconian measures would actually pass. But then again, his constituents were pretty harsh on criminal behavior. They could afford to be, what with being mostly affluent; nearly all upper and upper-middle class. People like that didn’t care about the welfare of lawbreakers and the disadvantaged. It was Lucifer’s party who probably wouldn’t support the laws - almost certainly wouldn’t - and John took a brief moment to pray that for once the man’s greater number of constituents could outvote his own. That happened rarely, but it wasn’t so uncommon that it was impossible.

The problem was that a good ten percent of the nation’s citizens were independent, unaffiliated voters of all walks of life. They usually sided with the Insurrectionists because of John’s popularity and clean-cut reputation. Almost _always_ sided with them, in fact. While that could be a good thing when John wanted certain laws passed, it was the opposite when he was personally against his own constituent’s wishes. And that’s where things could - and had - gone seriously wrong. In fact, since the previous May, the independents had been voting for all the measures he didn’t support, at least privately. But he supported them publicly, because that’s what his constituents wanted. That’s what he was elected for. He had to do his job. Had to speak the words written for him to fight for laws he didn’t want.

John Winchester was a conflicted man, and his secret hypocrisy was wearing him thin. After nine years in this position, and especially with increasingly harsh measures passed against people who couldn’t fight back, his bleeding liberal heart had started to beat strongly again. And if these March 1 laws went through, it couldn’t be ignored any longer.

Then again, it was probably already starting to show itself. He hadn’t been kind to Castiel and Gabriel since the October vote; in fact he hadn’t been himself ever since last summer, when they first showed their support of deeply conservative measures that he didn’t expect them to ever consider. It was then that he had begun quietly turning against his own constituents. Against his own party.

He hadn’t told anybody that, of course. Until tonight. And then he told the worst person possible.

 --------------------------

 For the vast majority of citizens, the system worked and the laws were inherently good - free healthcare for all and mandatory mental health facilities and homeless shelters in every town over a certain population being a good example of many. That was because they all voted for these things - _all_ of them, and that was John’s doing.

He was very proud of the one passed measure he had personally written and introduced. Because low voter turnout had resulted in the disastrous Azazel presidency that led to the Second American Revolution, citizens 19 years and older of The Reunited States were now required to vote by phone on major laws on the first of every month, except January. Implementing the intricate voice recognition technology had cost a bloody fortune, but it worked incredibly well. Those who did not vote without being excused were heavily fined and sentenced to 100 hours of community service. So far, less than one percent of the population had been noncompliant, which meant 99% of the nation phoned in 6 times a year to vote. It was rather astonishing when compared to the dismal 12% turnout in November of 1980.

Mandatory voting had one major downside, and that was the effect of inequality in social status on passing laws. Convicted criminals and indentured servants could not vote at all, for life - no matter how long they had been free or what their crimes were, and they were a significant population. This resulted in a law that prohibited appeals in death sentence cases. Fifteen years ago, before Reunification, those appeals were automatic, but citizens had become tired of paying for criminals to live on death row for 50 years. They had jumped at the chance to change it. Especially the Insurrectionists - who were not at all concerned with the welfare of such individuals. John was thoroughly ashamed of backing that measure, but he would have been mutinied out of office if he didn’t. So his popularity grew as “Death Row” was phased out and executions became mandatory within 7 days of the sentence.

Another law he opposed was the one that prohibited day laborers coming from across the border in Mexico. As he had predicted, crucial farms and fields in Texas and the southwest states were soon plunged into dire straits due to lack of workers. A near-famine soon followed, but the law could not be repealed for ten years. Hence, the hasty introduction of indentured servitude for criminals more than a hundred years after it had been phased out after the Civil War. No one was proud of the arrangement, and it was little better than slavery, but it worked to feed the country again. Convicted men and women could choose “service,” or prison. They almost always chose indenture, which by unintended consequence had already fixed the prison overpopulation problems that had plagued the nation ever since the War on Drugs had begun. In fact, it had put the much-despised private prison industry out of business completely.

Again, John’s popularity wildly increased as he mourned the win.

But then the slippery slope got greased even more, the nation lost its compassionate side over time, and it soon got proposed that children of convicted felons also became indentured. Despite the fact that John _and_ Lucifer had firmly and publicly opposed it, the measure passed in October. Both of them had a brief but massive downturn in popularity for that.

Some things you just couldn’t control.

John turned around on his side and watched Sam sleep for a while, and by the time his 4:30am alarm went off, he already knew he wouldn’t be running for reelection this fall. He had enough money to live off already without ever having to work again, and he already had bought floor plans for a big cabin on a lake near Yosemite for retirement.

Why wait until then?

So that was that. The decision calmed him, and he woke Sam up with a smile on his face and a lightness in his heart that he hadn’t felt for almost a year.

 --------------------

“Castiel,” said Benny quietly as they waited in the car for John to appear at the valet stand with Rufus. “I wanted to ask...I mean, is John alright? I was really worried about him last night, and I haven’t seen him this morning.”

Cas cocked his head. “Why do you ask?”

“He didn’t look well when he got in the car afterwards.”

“Too much wine, I’m afraid. He usually only gets drunk once a year, on Christmas.”

“I know, but it wasn’t that. Panicked, more like. I almost asked if he’d seen a ghost. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. But if Lucifer said or did something to him, I’m going to...I don’t know what I’m going to do, but something.”

Castiel took in the words bitterly, but tried not to jump to conclusions. Now he really needed to know how the meeting ended. He was going to _demand_ to know.

“You’re right, it’s none of your business, so you’re not going to do anything about it.”

Benny swallowed hard. He rarely talked to Castiel, and that was exactly because the man had no problem being abrasive if he felt it was warranted. Like right now.

 _Jesus, what a dick._ “Right. Sorry.”

“No problem,” Castiel replied pleasantly. “If you can roll up the window after we pull away, I’ll get to the bottom of it. Thank you for telling me.”

Benny looked back at him in surprise. That was Castiel, ice cold one moment and totally fine the next.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir.”

John suddenly appeared and Cas was relieved to see him make his way back to Benny’s SUV after ushering the still-sleepy Sam to the other car.

Castiel was astonished to see him in a good mood as he jumped in and spread out in the front row with a big sigh.

“Good morning, John.”

“Top o’ the morning. Ouch. I shouldn’t talk so loud. My head. Benny, can you pull through somewhere for breakfast? McDonald’s or whatever.”

“Yes, boss. Shall I roll up the privacy glass?”

“Not right now. Thanks. Cas, can you hand me the blue blanket in the very back row?”

“It’s in the other car,” replied Benny quickly as he opened his door. “I’ll get it.”

He was gone in a flash, and Castiel seized the moment to question his boss. “How did the meeting end? Did you say whatever you wanted to say to Lucifer?”

John nodded, but kept his eyes on Benny. “Yes, and we’re fine. We’re good.”

Castiel thought about Benny’s description of him as _panicked_. “Hmmm. And he didn’t...like, threaten you or anything? Or try to pull something while I was out of the room?”

“No, Cas. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Now he turned around to look at his friend. “Why are you so upset? You look like someone just ran over your dog.”

“It’s just...I couldn’t help but notice you seemed a little alarmed afterwards. That’s all. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Benny opened the door and handed the big cashmere blanket to John, who folded himself up in it and leaned against the window, grumbling to himself. Castiel wasn’t even in the same damned car last night, how could he know what...

Oh. Of course. Benny.

“Sorry, I’m really tired. Going to take a nap. We’ll have to continue this later.”

“Okay. But we should talk before we get back to the office.”

“Mmmhmmm. We’ll see.”

“Did you not sleep well?" Castiel pressed. "Was it something Lucifer said?”

“For god’s sake, Cas! Stop. I’m fine. Benny, did you forget how to drive?” he snapped.

“Sorry, boss.” Benny looked straight at Castiel as he turned around and quickly backed out of the driveway, raising his eyebrows slightly as if to say, _See? Told you so._

Castiel shrugged and picked up his Blackberry. There were at least two new messages from Gabriel inquiring about the meeting, but he skipped over them both and went straight to the one with the subject: _Draft: Proposed Media Statement supporting the Public Flogging initiative._

\-------------------------------


	35. MLK, Jr.

**_Thursday morning_ **

John never managed to fall asleep in the car, either, but he stayed leaning against the window and kept his eyes closed in order to avoid conversation with Castiel, who was catching up on his email with a deep frown on his face. He wasn’t really worried at the moment about what had happened between John and Lucifer in the final minute of their meeting. It was the draft media statement from Gabriel that was bothering him. Thinking John was sound asleep, he asked Benny to roll up the privacy glass and then quietly picked up the phone and called Gabe as they passed through Marina del Rey on the office.

“It’s Castiel.”

“Yes. I know. Caller ID, for the millionth time. Where are you guys?”

“About twenty minutes away from the office. Rufus is on the way to your house with Sam. I just read your draft statement and can tell you right now John’s going to hate it.”

Pause. “Can you be more specific?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s totally against this measure. The draft makes it sounds like he’s all but gleeful to be supporting it.”

“I know, but that’s the job. And he’s the only one who’s against it.”

“That doesn’t matter, Gabe. He’s the boss.”

“Right you are, but he doesn’t make _those_ decisions. Our constituents do. Our delegates do. He’s going to have to suck it up.”

Castiel sighed. “Gabe, you didn’t copy him on the draft and I’m assuming that’s because you don’t want to fight. But that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Tone it down and resend it, and copy him.”

“Excuse me? You’re not my boss, Castiel, so don’t order me around. I’ll speak to John directly when you guys get here.”

“I’m just trying to prevent-”

The line disconnected and Castiel all but threw down his phone in frustration, not noticing that John was watching him curiously.

“Did Gabe just hang up on you?” he asked after a moment, and Castiel jumped.

“I’m so sorry, John. Did I wake you?”

“Nope. What’s going on?”

Castiel explained the conversation, and John’s expression darkened. On one hand, it was great to know that Cas was maybe starting to sway to his side regarding the public flogging issue. That was unexpected. On the other hand, now he had to deal with an argument between two men who had never argued before, at least not to his knowledge. Perhaps it was just a one-time thing. He hoped, anyway. It was the last thing he needed right now.

“Okay, sorry Cas. Totally unacceptable for him to hang up on you. I’ll deal with that. You just carry on as normal.”

“I can handle it, John.”

“I’m his boss, it’s my responsibility. Just because we’re all friends doesn’t mean-”

He stopped talking in surprise as Benny rolled down the privacy glass all the way.

“Sir, we’re getting pulled over. Roll down your windows.”

That was law when a car had tinted windows, so Castiel and John immediately complied on both sides of the car.

“What happened?” John asked as he reached all the way over to the passenger side.

“I changed lanes without signaling.”

John said nothing, although his irritation almost made a rude comeback irresistible.

The police officer cautiously approached the car and peered into the back seats.

“Good morning, officer,” Castiel and John said together.

“Good morning Mr. Winchester, Mr. Novak.”

He proceeded to Benny. “You changed lanes without signaling, son. Right in front of me, too. What’s the deal?”

“The man on the blue motorcycle, sir. I thought he was going to veer into my lane. I was wrong.”

While this discussion was taking place John had of course noticed two photographers across the street taking pictures of the scene, and all but prayed the officer would issue a ticket so there wouldn’t have to be an argument about it.

“Alright. I saw him too, he was all over the place. So I’m gonna let it slide this time.”

“Officer,” said John quickly from his spot next to the window. “Please issue the ticket anyway, or else I’m going to be nailed in the press for acting like I’m above the law.”

“You kind of are, sir,” said the officer with a small smile. “I’ll get in a heap of trouble if I ticket you.”

John swallowed hard. That shouldn’t be true, but it was. “But...you’d be citing him, not me. Please just do it.”

The officer shook his head and tucked his ticketing pad back into his jacket. “An honor to meet you, Mr. Winchester. Mr. Novak. Have a nice day.”

He went back to his car and sped off in the opposite direction, and it took the rest of the drive to the office for John’s heart to slow back down to normal again. He already could picture the scathing headlines the next day in the paper’s political section.

_Damned if you do, damned if you don’t._

“I’m really sorry about that, sir,” said Benny after Castiel got out of the car when they arrived at the office. “But I figure the press would be a hell of a lot worse for you if we killed somebody.”

“It certainly would,” John mused. “Thank you for putting it into perspective.” He aborted his attempt to exit and stayed in the car, leaving Castiel looking at him in confusion as the door shut again. “And I’m sorry for barking at you earlier today when we left the hotel. But I need to ask you something. Did you tell Castiel I was acting strange after the dinner ended last night?”

Now it was Benny’s turn to swallow hard. “I didn’t use the word strange, sir. I said...that you looked unwell and I was concerned for you.”

“Is that all?”

“I think...I think I used the word _panicked_.”

“Okay. That explains a lot.” John glanced out at Castiel, who was still standing there waiting for him. “Benny, I’m only going to say this once, and I mean it. If you _ever_ do that again, you’re off my team. You have a problem with me, or any concerns, you ask me directly. What you said to Castiel is going to cause a problem between me and him. I know you meant well, but never again. Understand?”

The huge man looked about ready to cry, and John pushed aside the instinct to feel bad about being so harsh. He was absolutely right, and he wasn’t going to back down.

“Yes, sir. Understood. I only asked him because he cares about you just as much as I do. There was no harm intended at all.”

“I know. But you have a duty of confidentiality to me.” To drive the message home even further, he took the man off duty for the day. That would sting worse than any words could. “Go home, and send Lisa back to pick me up at noon.”

He got out of the car before Benny could answer and rejoined Castiel. “I’m going to cut the day short, but we need to talk for a few minutes. Your office. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

He headed to the cafeteria and got some coffee and a bagel, and headed back upstairs with a heavy heart. There was nothing more he hated than conflicts with his friends, and it hurt him to know that Gabriel had treated Castiel so poorly this morning.

Castiel was waiting by the window in his office, and John walked in and shut the door behind him.

“Cas, I just had it out with Benny for telling you I was panicked when we left the restaurant last night. He knows better than that. I’m sorry he upset you for nothing.”

“So he was wrong?”

“I wasn’t panicked,” John said, taking a huge bite of his bagel. It took a minute to get it down his throat so he could continue, but that allowed him more time to think. “Lucifer pisses me off. I was angry that he was enjoying toying with us. You commended me on my restraint but I don’t feel like I should have been so restrained. We looked weak.”

Castiel shook his head. “I disagree. No offense, but you look awful. You should go home.”

“I haven’t slept.”

“I can tell.”

“I need to deal with Gabriel first, then the auditors. After that I’m gone. Where’s the draft of the media statement?”

Castiel wordlessly handed him a printed sheet of paper, and John looked around for the big fluffy chair to collapse into. _Oh...it’s gone. That’s right._ He settled into the ugly modern couch instead, and drank down the rest of his coffee as he read the statement. Castiel was right. He hated it.

“Okay, this sucks. Look, I know we’ve clashed over this topic before. But let’s put that aside.”

“As I said earlier, I’m changing my mind about it. You should know that Gabriel strongly supports it, though, and I don’t even need to mention that all the delegates are highly enthused about it.” He shuddered. “Public flogging. What a way to set our country back 150 years.”

“You mean 23 years. You won’t believe this, but it actually wasn’t banished in Delaware until 1972, although the last incident took place in 1952. I’ve studied this topic way too much. There’s a reason we outlawed it the first time. At least Lucifer learns from history; he said he’s going to oppose it.”

Castiel shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. His constituents would drag him out of office kicking and screaming if he supported it.”

John grimaced. “You mean like ours will with me, if I speak against it?”

Cas nodded, his face just as grave.

“Fuck,” John sighed as he tossed the paper on the coffee table and laid down on the couch. “I don’t even care, Cas. Let them.”

“John. You really need to get some sleep before you talk yourself into walking off the job.”

_Too late..._

“Hang on.” He sat up and took his vibrating phone out of his pocket. It was Dean’s school again.

“John Winchester.”

“Mr. Winchester, Sonny French here. Dean’s fine, don’t be alarmed.”

 _Don’t be alarmed? Seriously?_ “Okay. What’s going on?”

“He didn’t show up for class this morning so I went to check on him and he was packing up all his stuff. Wants to go home, and I’m afraid he’s rather dead set on it.”

“That sounds like anything but _fine_ to me. I take it he’s in his room now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll call him. Thanks.” He hung up and turned to his chief of staff. “I gotta go to my office, Cas. I’ll let you know when I’m done dealing with Gabriel.”

John trudged to his office and shut the door, paying no attention to the line of people waiting outside to have a word with him.

Dean picked up on the first ring. “Dad?”

“Dean, what in the holy hell are you up to now? You’re not leaving, so forget it and go back to class.”

“Dad, please. I hate it here!”

John acted astonished, though he was far from it. “What? Why?”

“Because Sam’s not here. Because you’re not here. I hate it. I have no friends.”

“You’ve been there _four days_. Give it time.”

“This was a mistake. You let me choose to come here, so why won’t you let me choose to leave?”

Dean had a good point, that much was certain. And if he was totally honest with himself, John knew this was going to happen all along. Counted on it, actually.

“Alright son, listen up. Four days is not enough to fix everything that’s been wrong in the past three months. You’re going to stay there, and you’re going to shape up, and-”

“Dad!”

“-and if I get one more call about you skipping class-”

“Dad, please,” Dean pleaded, the words issuing forth in a rapid tumble. “I’m miserable. I haven’t eaten in two days, my stomach is killing me, this is the wrong place for me. I’m in the wrong school, with the wrong people, everything is just wrong. I quit. I’ll be good, I promise. Please come get me. I’ll never give you a reason to be mad at me again, I swear. Whatever you want.”

“Dean, you can’t quit. It’s not a job.” John breathed deeply, suddenly feeling completely sympathetic for his oldest now that he heard the tears catching in the poor boy’s throat. If anyone knew what it was like to be in the wrong place with the wrong crowd, it was John Winchester.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a long time, during which John hit the concealed button on his desk to summon Cas. That was how he sometimes got out of meetings that went on too long, and he thought it was sly but the whole office had caught on to the tactic a long time ago.

“You still there, kiddo?”

“Yeah, dad. I miss you,” he said softly.

Well, so much for John’s resolve. Poof. Gone.

“Miss me? I thought you hated me lately. And Sam.”

“I thought I did, too, but I don’t. I’m sorry I’ve been a di...that I’ve been acting up so much. I’ll never do it again, I swear.”

Castiel peeked through the window and John crooked his finger to signal him to enter _._

“Dean, hold on for a minute. Just...don’t hang up. Hold on.”

John put his son on mute. “Close the door. Cas, I have a really awkward favor to ask you. Feel free to say no.”

“Okay. What?”

“You don’t have any meetings today, right?”

“No.”

“Can you and Rufus go get Dean from school in Palm Springs? You’re listed as his second guardian so they’ll release him to you, but not to my guards. I’m too fucking tired, and I’ve got that mandatory 11am meeting with the auditors from the FBI.”

Castiel was instantly concerned. “Sure. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Poor kid is homesick. You guys will have to take the Escalade so there’s room for all his suitcases.”

“Sure. Leave right now?”

“Yeah, if that’s ok. It’ll take about three hours each way.”

Castiel nodded. “Sure, John. Anything for Dean.”

John felt a catch in his throat suddenly, and his heart was all but glowing. “You’re a good man, Cas. I’m...thankful for your friendship. And for caring about Dean. Thank you.”

Cas nodded, again. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” John said with a smile. “Getting my boy back when I thought I was gonna lose him? Everything’s great. I’m going to let you surprise him with the good news. Hurry back, alright?”

“Certainly. See you at the house.”

John picked up the phone again. “Hey, Dean. I’m going into a meeting and I want you to just relax and breathe. Do your meditations. Take your medications. Do what you gotta do to chill out, okay? We’ll talk later about possibly bringing you home at spring break. I can’t promise anything.”

“S _pring break?_ ” Dean moaned. “But I’m ready now, dad. I’m packed.”

“Dean. We will _only_ talk if Sonny can confirm for me that you went back to class right now and stayed there all three hours. Period. Otherwise, forget it, we aren’t talking about a thing. Understood? Call me at lunchtime.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied miserably, and John smiled a little himself.

“Good boy. Talk to you then.”

He hung up and dialed Sonny.

“Sonny, I lost the bet. He lasted three days less than I thought he would. I’m really glad you talked me into paying only one week’s tuition.”

Sonny laughed a little. “Oh, that’s alright. He’s a good kid. No harm done and we’ve enjoyed having him. So you’re coming to pick him up?”

“No, my brother Castiel is on his way.” John stopped himself in surprise; he had never referred to Cas as his brother before and wasn’t sure why he did so now. It was strange that it didn’t feel awkward at all. “He and my guard, Rufus, should be there by noon or so. Don’t tell Dean. They’re going to surprise him, but I want his ass back in class now until lunchtime. He knows, but can you make sure?”

“Of course.”

John was happy as that call ended and another rough chapter in the book of Dean was coming to an end. He missed his kid more than he’d ever confess, although he’d admittedly been too occupied to think about him much lately.

Now to deal with Gabriel. He walked over to the man’s office, once again ignoring the line of people waiting to talk to him. Normally he’d never be so rude, but this wasn’t a normal day.

“John, welcome back,” said Gabe as he pulled a piece of paper off his printer. “I was just about to bring you the revised version of the media st...is something wrong?”

John sat down at one of the chairs in front of the desk, which he never did. “First things first. As predicted, Dean’s time at Elite Palms has come to a premature end.”

“No problem. Amelia’s ready for him. I’m glad the boys won’t be separated anymore.”

“Good. Thank you.” John hardened his tone. “Now for the part where I get bitchy, and you shut up and listen, and then quickly agree to everything I expect to happen in the future.”

Gabriel’s eyes went wide with alarm; John had never said such a ruthless thing to him before.

“Yes?”

“I overheard the conversation you had with Cas. Two big things wrong with it. Number one, if he tells you to do something, you do it. He’s always done what you tell him without hesitation because he understands you both work for me, not yourselves. So don’t let your pride get in the way of the job again. Got that?”

“Yes, John,” Gabe replied quietly.

“Second thing. You hung up on him. Totally disrespectful and I won’t have it. Have I ever hung up on you mid-sentence, even when I’m completely pissed off beyond all proportion to reality?”

“No, come to think of it.”

“Exactly. Some lines we just don’t cross, and that’s one of them. You know that, we’ve discussed this before. I’ll admit I did it once to Cas, but I spent a week apologizing for it. Next time it happens, you’re out an entire paycheck. I’m dead serious.”

“Understood, John,” Gabriel said placatingly. John was more furious than he’d since him since the Christmas debacle, but he was speaking in a near-conversational tone and was completely in control otherwise. It was terrifying somehow.

“Thank you. Then this matter is closed and won’t be brought up again. Let me see that revised press release, please.” He held his hand out, but Gabe froze.

“John, please let me say something first. I know that you’re fundamentally against this law. After speaking to Castiel I’ve changed the wording quite a bit, to make it much less...enthusiastic. But you must know that our party needs to support this.” John nodded, so Gabe took a deep breath and handed over the new draft, which John read several times before commenting.

“Gabe, this is really good. It think you nailed it.”

“What? Really?” Gabriel did not expect that reaction. “I thought you...you..”

“No, you’re right. Our party needs to support this. It’s who we are. It doesn’t matter that I’m personally against it.” He handed the paper back. “Don’t release it yet, though. I got word that the law might be on the March 1 ballot, so I’d like to wait a little longer before proceeding with an endorsement. Things change fast around here.”

Gabriel nodded. “Of course. That makes perfect sense.”

“Mmmhmm. Thanks again for taking Dean into the homeschool. I’m leaving at noon because I didn’t sleep last night. We’ll catch up tomorrow.”

John went back to his office and fired up his email program.

_Lucifer: how sure are you that this public flogging measure is going to be on the March 1 ballot? Need to know so we can align our messaging. Get back to me ASAP please. Hope you’re enjoying the rest of your vacation. -John_

John went into his bathroom to calm his nerves, and it took some time to get back to the point where he could be seen in public again without raising eyebrows. He must look terrible.

By the time he got back to his desk there was already a reply.

_John, my contact says it’s certain. I’m planning to release our statement around February 18. May I assume you will still be opposing it, and the others we discussed? - L_

Oh shit, here goes, thought John. Into the belly of the beast we proceed.

_Yes, exactly as discussed. Talk to you on Monday, 10am PST._

John felt sick, but he was committed now. If he couldn’t persuade Gabriel and Castiel that opposing the two measures was best for the party, then fuck it. He was going to oppose them anyway with a live press conference before they could stop him, and damn the consequences.

He reached over and pulled the heavy carved stone paperweight into his lap, slowly and idly tracing the lettering with his fingers as he always did when he was uncertain about a decision. The quote always helped him settle down and re-center, and he always felt better afterwards:

 **_There comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must take it because conscience tells him it is right._ ** **_-Martin Luther King, Jr._ **


	36. The Short Fluffy One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've tortured y'all so much, sorry. Here's some brief fluff for ya. Enjoy :)

**Insurrectionist HQ - Los Angeles**

At 12:15pm John was on his fourth cup of coffee and dying slowly in a tedious meeting with the auditors, but he perked up and hastily excused himself when he saw Dean’s call coming in.

“Greetings, this is John Winchester, how may I assist you today?” he asked formally.

“Dad? It’s me.”

“I’m sorry, who is this? Do I know you?”

 _Groan . "_ You suck so bad, it’s not even funny.”

Dean really _was_ mad enough to scold his dad, but John grinned. He knew what was coming next. “Oh? And why is that, exactly?”

“Because I’ve been a mess all morning thinking you weren’t going to let me come home until I’m old enough to retire. Why didn’t you tell me? You’re so mean.”

“Wanted to surprise you.”

Dean grumbled. “Well, surprise, now you get to pay for dry cleaning Uncle Cas’ suit because it has my snot and tears all over it. I made such a fool of myself in front of everybody.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

John was still grinning, although he felt bad for being so amused by the poor kid’s reaction...but he couldn’t help it. At least, not until there was an ugly sniffling noise through the phone; evidently said snot had not yet retreated and John suddenly felt a huge pang of guilt.

“So, does that mean you hate me again?”

“No. But I really wanted to like it here, and make you proud and...I’m sorry, dad. I’m almost 16 and acting like such a baby.”

“No, don’t say that. Missing your family is nothing to be ashamed of at any age. I _am_ proud of you, Dean, because you’re a good person. Brave, kind, and smart. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I don’t feel brave right now.”

“Well, I have a feeling you’ll get over it quickly. See you in about three hours. We’ll have an early dinner at home and then you’re going straight to bed, no complaining. Homeschool starts at 8am sharp.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean actually sounded really happy about that, and John was indescribably pleased at the thought of having his boys back together again.

“I have to go back into my meeting now. Be good for Cas.”

“I will, I promise. Thanks for letting me go home, dad. Love you.”

 _Thanks for wanting to come home._ “Love you too, son. Can’t wait to see you.”

John swallowed the lump in his throat, and went back to his meeting with a glowing heart.

**_———-_ **

Dean loved his Uncle Cas, but he wasn’t normally the affectionate type. That’s why Castiel was astonished and rather honored when Dean scrambled into the car and straight to his side, wrapping his arms around his “uncle.”

“Thank you so much for coming to get me. I’m so happy to go home. Can we get some food? I haven’t eaten lunch.”

Of course food would be the very first thing on his mind. Cas put an arm around Dean’s shoulders and tried to accustom himself to the boy’s lanky body pressed up against his own.

“Your dad said no fast food, so we’ll go to a restaurant. I know you want to get home as fast as possible, but-”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you.”

It only took fifteen minutes to get the resort where Cas knew of a restaurant with a private dining room, but Dean had laid down and was now sound asleep with his head on Castiel’s leg when they pulled up. He nodded to Rufus as the man looked back at him with a _what should we do?_ expression.

“Let’s just head home,” Cas whispered. “He’s out cold.”

Rufus gently pulled the big SUV back out and onto the freeway. Castiel covered Dean up with John’s blanket, and three hours later the teenager woke up a little disoriented and starving, but ecstatic to find himself in his own driveway. He ran inside to find Sam waiting in the living room with Angela and Starsky and Hutch, who, gleeful upon spotting Dean, all promptly rolled over to demand belly rubs from their favorite human.


	37. Suspicious Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows the previous chapter, which is Dean's arrival home from school and John having a rough day without any sleep at all.
> 
> Please also recall that Gadreel illegally and secretly paid off some photographers a few chapters ago, under Uriel's direction.

The Impala pulled up to the garage just as Dean had finished greeting the dogs and Sam, and Chuck opened the door to let the contingent in the house. John’s eyes were bleary and bloodshot as he spoke into his cell phone and held up a finger to shush his sons as they watched him come in and set everything down.

“Thanks, Gabe. I’m sure you’re right. Keep me posted.” He hung up, then turned to his sons. “Hey kiddos, sorry to keep you waiting. Welcome back, Dean.”

Dean stayed by the dining room table, suddenly feeling overly anxious. He rarely, if ever, saw his dad in such a state of messy fatigue, and all of his anxiety buttons were instantly pushed.

“Yeah, dad. I’m here.”

“I can see that,” John replied wryly as he ran his fingers through his hair and put his keys on the side table. “Actually, I’m so tired that I’m seeing two of you and two of Sam here right now. And possibly three Angelas, unless you brought home a couple more goldens.”

Sam shifted on his feet, as uncomfortable about John’s appearance as his brother was. “Not today. Are you alright, dad? You were supposed to be home hours ago.”

“Yeah, you know how it goes. Dean, wait for me in my study while I change, okay? I’ll be right there.”

Dean’s stomach twisted into knots at that; the study had been the location of too many deeply unpleasant conversations and very few happy ones. John was no less perceptive when tired than he was wide awake, and he caught the aggrieved look on his oldest’s face instantly. Before he could say anything, Castiel came in the door with Angela’s leash in hand.

“Thanks for watching over her, Sam,” he said warmly as he bustled in, failing as usual to stop the door from slamming behind him before Chuck could catch it. Sam let go of the collar and Angela ran to Cas with all the exaggerated exuberance of a dog who hadn’t seen her favorite human in 36 hours. He bent down to hug her, then looked around the room and seemed to realize he had interrupted something not so pleasant. He hastily latched the leash onto her harness and stood back up.

“Did you _just_ get home, John?” he asked in surprise.

“Yeah. Don’t ask. Thanks for going to get Dean.”

There were a hundred things Castiel wanted to say about the fact that John hadn’t slept for over a day, but he would never do so in front of an audience. Perhaps not even to John alone.

“No problem. See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be in late. Around 10. I’m going to need to meet with you and Gabe right away.”

“Of course. Talk to you then.”

He left, and Dean turned to look pleadingly at his dad, who simply turned and walked up the stairs without another word. Dean had no choice but to go to the study and wait in silence, writhing as he worried and fretted about what his dad was going to do and say about his failure to succeed at boarding school.

Soon enough the door opened, and John entered the room in jeans and a Henley. He stopped to hug Dean briefly, then stood behind his desk, all business. “I hate to pee on your parade, but we have one piece of unfinished business to attend to. Let’s get it over with so we can move on.”

“You mean...my license?”

John extended the piece of pink paper to his son. “Yes. Shred it without argument.”

Dean reached across the desk and took the precious paper, swallowing his despair as he did so. Fighting with his dad within five minutes of being home would be incredibly reckless, and if this was the price he had to pay for being free of the boarding school, then so be it.

John had been steeling himself for a big fight, but he was pleasantly surprised with how quickly Dean complied without any fuss. The boy simply turned and went to the shredder, flipped it on, then hesitated slightly before feeding it in with a visible sigh of resignation. Afterwards he just stood there, staring glumly at the still-grinding teeth.

“Turn it off,” John said finally, once he couldn’t stand the noise anymore.

Dean switched it off and walked back to stand in front of his dad’s desk, looking like his dog had just gotten run over by a car. “Dad, I’m sorry for all this. For fucking up. For being a failure. For everything.”

John smiled a little. He never minded when his sons swore in private, and in fact was secretly amused by it. In public was another matter, of course...not that they had ever dared to do such a thing.

“Dean, you’re talking to a man who got kicked out of the Boy Scouts, two boarding schools, _and_ college. Do you really think I’m judging you right now for merely _choosing_ to leave a place that made you so unhappy?”

That brought a smirk out of the teen, and John knew then that everything was going to be okay.

“No, I guess not.”

“What was it that made you so unhappy? I’m just curious. You don’t have to answer, but I don’t believe that you were really missing me and Sam that much.”

Dean nervously twisted his hands into the hem of his polo shirt. “I _did_ miss you guys.”

“Nevermind, then. Tell me if and when you want to talk about it. Listen, I’m shot. I gotta go to bed. You and Sam can order in whatever you want for dinner.”

“Did you and Uncle Cas really meet with Lucifer in San Diego?” Dean asked tonelessly.

John felt his heart race for a moment. “Were you watching the news again?”

Dean nodded. “This morning. It wasn’t banned at school. Everyone watches it. I even know that Benny almost got a ticket but you talked the police officer out of it.”

John sighed. “That's not what...okay, you’re back to _not_ watching it again. You know something is said about me almost every day that’s going to upset you, and most of it is either bullshit or blown out of proportion.”

“Not all of it.” Dean remained stone-faced as his dad crossed from behind the desk and stood less than a foot away from him.

“Son, I’m really glad you’re back, and I’d like to keep it that way.” John put his hands on his son’s shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. “Whatever I tell you, or don’t tell you, is for your own good. If you need to know, you’ll know. We’ve talked about this a hundred times.”

Dean was too stricken to reply right away and John hardened his heart against the deep hurt he knew he had just inflicted. But he had to protect his son at any cost.

“Go figure out what you guys want to order for dinner. You know where the credit card is. Don’t watch the news without my permission, ever. That’s an order. I’m going to bed.”

Dean stood his ground. “Don’t trust that asshole, dad.”

John replied quietly, “I don’t, and he knows it. Hell, everyone knows it, and the feeling is mutual. If it makes you feel better, Uncle Cas was really happy with how the meeting went, and he told me I did great. If the most critical and pessimistic man in the world said that, then you _know_ everything’s good. Okay?”

That was supposed to make Dean feel better, but John saw him tense up even more. Shit.

“I can’t relax if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“You don’t need to know, Dean. You’re fifteen years old. Enjoy your childhood while you can and leave the rest of this shit to me. I need to go to bed, seriously. I’m dying here. Come on.”

Dean turned and opened the door and followed his dad glumly out to the kitchen. “I’m turning 16 on Monday.”

“Yes, I know. That’s two years from 18, when you can do whatever you want. Until then, you mind what I tell you.”

“Yes, sir. Our phones are definitely being tapped, by the way. I keep hearing that click.”

“Shit. Okay. I’ll have the line disconnected.” He turned around and embraced Dean in another tight hug. “After dinner you go straight to bed and lights out. I’ll wake you up at seven for breakfast and don’t want any fussing. This weekend we’re going to go look at the new house and then start moving in next weekend. You excited?”

Dean grinned. “Yeah. I can’t wait to see it!”

“Good. Do me a favor, after you order food go downstairs and find Benny. Let him know about the phone and what you heard. I’ll talk to him tomorrow about it. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, dad. It’s really good to be home.”

Dean watched his dad disappear up the steps, and realized he wasn’t really sure about that last part. Then he snuck into the library and parked himself in front of the little television that was haphazardly shoved into a corner, and turned the channel to the 5pm local news. It had already long started and they were past the headlines and into sports already. Damn. He changed it to CNN and sat down on the floor next to the couch to watch.

Half an hour later he nearly jumped out of his skin when the door to the library door opened with a creak, and he dropped the remote in his haste to change the channel. Thankfully it was just Benny.

“Hi,” the man said quickly as he shut the door behind him. “Something you need to tell me?”

Dean clicked off the TV and quickly scrambled up and went over to a bookshelf as if he had been browsing for something to read this entire time.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied nervously, then gave up the book charade and started to head for the door. “I need to go order dinner for me and Sam. Want anything?”

Benny stayed where he was, effectively blocking Dean’s exit. “You were supposed to tell me about the phones being tapped after you ordered dinner, both of which you didn’t do. Then I find you in here watching TV against your dad’s orders.”

“Ummm. Are you...are you going to tell him?”

“ _Out_.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied anxiously as he darted past his father’s guard and hurried into the kitchen. Sam was in there, too, making a huge portion of macaroni and cheese, and he turned to glare at his brother.

“Where the hell have you been? I made us dinner since you never ordered it.”

“What? Why didn’t you ask Chef to make something?”

“Because it would take forever. Where have you been?”

Dean shrugged. “Reading. Did you know dad met with Lucifer?”

Sam stopped stirring the pot for a moment, then renewed the activity with vigor. “Yeah. I was kind of there. In San Diego, I mean. Not at the meeting.”

“What...what the fuck, Sam? Why? You knew about this, too?” Dean complained bitterly.

“Not like a had a choice. Dad told me not to talk about it. Hand me a plate.”

“Fuck that. You tell me when these things happen, okay Sammy?”

Now Benny’s soft voice again, from almost over his shoulder. “Dean, step outside with me for a moment.”

Dean didn’t want to, but he knew better than to disobey any guard. If the statement had been phrased as a question he could stall, perhaps, but this wasn’t a question. So he went, and Benny slid the door shut behind them. He looked livid, but his tone was perfectly calm and diplomatic.

“When John asks me tomorrow if you complied with his orders tonight, what do you want me to say?”

“I...I want you to say yes, of course.”

“Good. Then go to bed, and leave Sam alone about Lucifer. He wasn’t lying, he can’t talk about it. If you get on his case about it again, I’m going to have a word with your dad about what you were doing in his library tonight without permission. Understood?” Benny crossed his arms. “Your father expects so much better of you, Dean. We all do.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry,” Dean whispered shakily, thoroughly rattled. His breath hitched for a moment, and his eyes burned fiercely at the stinging rebuke. Benny had never spoken to him so harshly before. He sounded just like his dad. It hurt.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Then take a plate with you upstairs. Go. Lights out in thirty minutes. I’ll be checking to make sure you obey.”

Dean nodded and swallowed hard. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

Benny patted him reassuring on the shoulder, then went back downstairs to his office, where he mentally prepared himself for losing his job if John found out he had interfered in a family matter. He knew Dean would never throw him under the bus, but the fact that he had gone against John’s wishes unsettled him thoroughly. So did the realization that he would willingly do it again if it meant saving the teenager from his dad’s wrath, and vice versa.

\--------------

**That same evening**

 

“Hey Cas. Listen, you’re going to hear tomorrow that the audit didn’t go well today. I just wanted to give you a heads up and ask you something.”

Castiel paused stirring his tea. “What do you mean, Gabe? What happened?”

“The strangest thing came up when they were reviewing our financials. Six different cash payouts were made for ‘photographic services’ last week. Do you know what that might be?”

“ _Photographic services_? No idea. Did you ask John?”

“Yeah, I was talking to him when he got home. He thinks they might have been miscategorized, but it looks exactly like he paid off those damned photographers after all. The auditors red-flagged it to Michael without giving us any time to investigate. We’ve got to figure it out before he gets summoned again.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s some back-up somewhere. The accounts payable rep who made the payments should be able to explain.”

Gabriel sighed. “That’s just the thing that set off the alarm. We can’t tell who did it. Our system allows anonymous transactions with John’s written authorization, and he’s used it a few times for highly confidential reasons. Like severance payouts and things, all above board. But not this time. It has to be a mistake because he says he didn’t authorize a damned thing. Normally these transactions are hidden, but somehow they showed up anyway. If he can’t convince Michael this wasn’t his doing, we’re all in deep shit.”

Castiel abandoned his tea in the kitchen and went to sit down on the couch. “I don’t think it was a mistake, but rest assured that Michael knows John’s smart enough not to lead a trail back to him by actually coding the transactions correctly and allowing them to be seen.”

Gabe’s heart nearly stopped at that. “What are you implying, exactly?”

“That someone is either embezzling from us and just happened to use a code that looks suspicious...or more likely, they’re purposely trying to get John in trouble. I know you and John think everyone on the staff is perfectly loyal and upright, but I don’t. Lucifer wasn’t telling the truth when he said he doesn’t employ any double agents.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Neither do you.”

Gabe mused over that for a few moments. “Jesus Christ. Let’s hope you’re wrong. But then again, if you are...never mind. Who is our most trustworthy person in accounts payable? I want only one single person to have access to making anonymous payments, so we can stop this in its tracks.”

Castiel thought about it for a moment; it was a toss-up between three men who had been on staff the longest.

“Probably Gadreel. He’s been with us for five years, never any complaints or trouble. He’s a bit of an odd one, though, I think we should question the entire accounting staff to find out who did this. There’s 24 of them, it will take time to do a polygraph on everyone.”

“Time we don’t _have_ , Cas. John can only delay Michael for so long.”

“Well, we can’t just choose a select few. It’s either all of them, or none at all.”

 _Shit._ “Okay, let’s do it this way. If we’re going to choose one person to have access in the future, we should poly him alone to make sure he’s above board. That way we don’t have to explain or accuse anyone right off the bat. You want to pick Gadreel, then?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. If John approves we’ll talk to Gadreel tomorrow morning, poly him in the afternoon. If you’re comfortable with him and can trust him with the access, I’m good with that. Then we’ll poly the rest as fast as possible before Michael can pull out his guillotine again. Hopefully, anyway.”

Castiel paused for a long, anxious moment before responding. “We have to eliminate the possibility that John did make the payments. It’s our duty. He will understand.”

Gabriel groaned. “Right, thanks. Very comforting.”

“Do you disagree?”

“Of course not. But I don’t want to go there right now. Not after what happened to get us in deep shit last time.”

Castiel drummed his fingers on his lap. “No. But that’s because we went behind his back with our suspicions. This time, we either ask him about it upfront, or we don’t discuss it at all. Period. Which do you prefer?”

Gabriel groaned again. “I’d prefer to walk a mile over hot coals than make that decision.”

“Then I’ll make the decision,” Castiel answered firmly. “You and I don’t discuss it. He didn’t do it, anyway, so there’s no point.”

“Are you absolutely positive about that?” Gabriel asked after a long pause, almost timidly.

“No. But I’m willing to let it go and focus entirely on other possibilities. Are you?”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“Gabriel? Are you still there?”

“Ahem. Yeah. I’m sure he didn’t do it. You’re right, he’s way too smart to let it be found. He would have used his own personal money, anyway. End of discussion.”

Castiel grunted. “Exactly. That settles that. See you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Gabe interjected quickly. “No. We _have_ to ask him, Cas. He knows that. If we don’t, he’ll think we are discussing it separately and we’ll have Christmas Day all over again. I’ll do it.”

“No, it’s my responsibility. I’ll do it.”

“Okay. I’ll pray for you.”

“No need. He’s not going to hurt me.”

“I was joking, Cas,” Gabe sighed.

“Oh. Well, the meeting is at ten o’clock so try not to worry about it until then.”

“Right. I’m sure I’ll forget all about it.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

They ended the call, and Cas calmly went back to his tea, which to his dismay had become bitter and cold while waiting for his attention.


	38. Balls

**Saturday, January 29**

**Ten days after previous chapter**

**Ventura Harbor, California**

“Cas, don’t unravel it. Just toss it way up. Gotta go pretty hard, like-”

The coiled rope splashed into the water of the marina as Castiel botched the throw to John, who had been reaching for it from the stern of his surprisingly modest 45-foot sailboat.

“You throw like a girl!” John complained with a grin as he wiped away the splashes of seawater from his face.

“Sorry. It was heavier than I expected.”

“I got it, dad,” Sam yelled as he dodged around his “uncle” and retrieved the line, throwing it smoothly into his dad’s hands while clambering aboard at the same time. Dean was busy at the helm, fighting against the tide to keep the boat in the slip so it didn’t leave anyone behind.

“Uncle Cas,” he called over the gratingly harsh noise of the new engine. “You coming?”

“Do I have a choice?” Cas grumbled as he waited for the bow to come closer before taking the huge step up from the dock. He made it without any further mishaps, to everyone’s relief. As Dean navigated them into the open waters of the large marina, John walked along the decks and methodically pulled the fenders up over the sides.

“Boys, start untying the sails. Cas, come sit with me at the helm.”

It wasn’t often that Castiel joined John and his sons on sailing adventures, and his clumsiness and general disinterest in the activity was primarily why. Not to mention his tendency to become seasick long before they could make it out of the smooth harbor.

“Sorry, John,” he said sheepishly as he sat down next to his boss.

“No problem. Want something to drink?”

“Ginger ale, please.”

John glanced aside at Chuck. “Ginger ale for Cas and the boys. Root beer for me. See if we have any Cheez-its.” The man nodded and disappeared underneath the hatch to join the rest of the servants and the two guards, who always stayed below on these trips to allow the family some much-needed privacy. Once the drinks and food had arrived, John would close the hatch and it would almost feel like they were alone in the world again. Almost.

“I can’t believe it’s this warm and nearly February,” he mused conversationally. “Gotta love California. We’d be freezing our asses off in Kansas right about now.”

“Mmmmm,” Cas replied noncommittally, zipping up his windbreaker and looking slightly green. “Maybe I should get on a plane, then, since I prefer hypothermia over dry heaves.”

John barked out a laugh, and his two boys turned around to look at him and grinned.

There was silence for about ten minutes, except for John’s necessary commands to the boys in regards to the sails. He was never a tyrant at sea and was a surprisingly easygoing and humorous captain. Dean and Sam loved these trips because they almost felt like a normal family again, and they didn’t have to walk on eggshells around their dad for a few hours. Their mom had loved sailing, and the boat was named after her. Accordingly, John loved it, too, and he was at his most relaxed when behind the helm. For the Winchesters, this was as normal as life would ever get.

As the boat nudged its bow into the deeper waters of the Pacific, Dean pulled up the mainsail hand over hand while Sam worked on the mizzen. Once they were officially sailing, John cut the engine and adjusted his ears to the startling quiet while Chuck emerged with the drinks and snacks. While he wasn’t really needed out here just to bring a few trays up and down, John always brought him along because he loved sailing.

“You take your seasickness stuff?” he asked with a straight face, as he always did.

Chuck grimaced. “No, sir. Going to be throwing up all over your beautiful boat today, I’m afraid.”

“Try to keep it to a bare minimum this time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Chuck disappeared below while John chuckled to himself. The man had an iron stomach and would possibly be the last person in the world to get seasick. But John always poked fun at him anyway, which was particularly fun to do in front of Castiel, who was now a much darker shade of green.

“Hey, Cas. Take the wheel.” That would give him something to do to keep his mind off his stomach. John picked up the two cans of ginger ale and went forward to hand them to the boys. They all sat down on the forward hatch and drank in silence.

“Dad,” Dean said eventually. “Can we just stay out here forever?”

“No. The dogs would miss you too much. How about all day, instead?”

“Sure. But don’t you have work to do?”

“Nope. You guys want to take a turn at the wheel?”

“I do!” Sam interjected excitedly. With a strong breeze like this, John usually never let the boys take over the steering. But it was blowing straight, and the waves were minimal. Even Castiel was having no trouble keeping her on course.

“Okay. Go take over from Uncle Cas.”

Sam departed excitedly, and John was left sitting alongside his oldest son. They hadn’t spoken much in the past week and a half, but when they had, Dean had been pleasant and compliant, causing no trouble at all. It had been a remarkably peaceful ten days since he returned from boarding school.

“Hey. How are you doing?” John asked eventually.

“Good, thanks. You?”

“You seem a bit down. Just...you know, you can talk to me. I’m here. Anytime.”

“Thank you.”

Well, so much for that. Dean was staring out at the horizon, and his mind was anywhere but on this boat. John patted him on the shoulder and stood up.

“Wait, dad…”

John staggered against a wave that pitched the boat as he turned back, and the momentum forced him neatly back down onto the spot where he had just been sitting.

“Oomph. Yeah?”

Dean swallowed hard. “There is actually something that I need to tell you.”

 _Oh god. Guilt detected._ John knew his kids, and that’s undoubtedly what Dean’s flat tone indicated. Well...so much for a relaxing day.

“What did you do?” he asked tersely.

Dean shot him a hurt look. “Nothing!”

“Sorry. What’s on your mind, I meant to ask?”

“Well, it’s just that...that I’m sixteen years old now, and it doesn’t make sense anymore for me not to know what’s going on around me. I really don’t like being in the dark. I was wondering if you would possibly reconsider your rule about not letting me watch the news.”

John shuddered, then gulped down the last of his root beer. “Yes.”

“Dad, please, I just want...wait. What?” Dean stared at his father in wonder and surprise, eyebrows furrowed.

“I said yes, I’ll reconsider, because you asked so nicely and told me what was bothering you without starting a fight. But I want to ask you something first, and I expect an honest answer. Have you been watching it without my permission?”

Dean felt a lump in his throat. “Just once, the day I got home from Palm Springs. You went to bed so early and left the library unlocked...but I haven’t done it again. Haven’t even touched the TV at all, because I felt so bad about it, I swear. I’m sorry, dad.”

John rested an arm lightly around his son’s tense shoulders. “Yeah, I knew about that. Benny spilled the beans.”

“He did?” Dean responded in horror. “And you didn’t even you didn’t get mad?”

“Oh yeah, I was mad. Still am, but you haven’t watched it since then, so I’ll get over it. In the future we’ll watch it together, and you’re not to watch it without me, ever. Agreed?”

Dean nodded, still in shock. “Why...why didn’t you say anything about it?”

“Because Benny asked me not to. You feel like doing some fishing?”

Dean stared askance at his dad for the third time in as many minutes. “Dad...I...are you feeling alright?”

John was desperate to tell him the truth. To lay down his burdens and tell _anyone_ , really, that _no_...he wasn’t alright. Not by a longshot. That Michael’s total silence on the audit findings had instilled a sense of doom on him, keeping him awake for four nights straight. That he hated himself for allying with Lucifer. That he disliked his own constituents and was secretly planning to destroy their ballot measures at all costs. That he knew Cas and Gabriel quietly suspected that he paid the photographers off, despite his insistence that he didn’t and their easy acceptance of his denial.

That doing the right thing had never felt so wrong, and that he knew his career would end sooner than planned, no matter what he did to prevent it.

Worst of all...that something dark within his soul  _wanted_ this _. Wanted_ his name to live in infamy, along with his face from that famous photograph. _Wanted_ to be a martyr for his party. 

He didn’t know why he couldn’t fight off those thoughts anymore.

“Yeah, Dean, I’m good. You know how much I love being out on the ocean. Makes me feel like myself again.”

“But that’s the thing. You’re not _yourself_ at all, dad. You’re freaking me out.”

“Hmmm. And here I was thinking you’d be relieved that I’m trying really hard to go easier on you and Sam. If you prefer, I can just take off my belt right here and-”

“No, no!” Dean laughed nervously. “I _am_ relieved. Please don’t. Sorry I asked.”

“I won’t,” John replied seriously. “The truth is that apparently I’m a big old softy when my boys are behaving. Who would have thought?”

The sarcasm wasn’t quite lost on Dean, but it didn’t exactly hit its target, either.

“Oh. Okay. Dad?”

“What?”

“Do you think you’ll be re-elected in November?”

John felt his blood pressure rise sharply at the query, but he kept his tone level. “I don’t know.”

“But we have enough money that it doesn’t matter if you aren’t, right?”

“Yes. We’ll be fine, Dean.”

John withdrew his arm and shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He wanted to tell his son he wasn’t going to run again and they’d all be free of this life, one way or another. And that was assuming he even made it to November without being thrown out of office.

“Look. A lot can happen between now and then. A lot _will_ happen, and that’s the only thing I can guarantee. Let’s just focus on the present. Tonight we start packing for the new house, and in three weeks we move in. I want you to keep your attention on that, okay? And on school, obviously. Mrs. Angel is brutal with the homework, so you have a lot on your plate already without worrying about something that’s ten months away.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, dad. I just worry, that’s all.”

“I know. Me too. Let’s try to relax today. Want to fish for a little bit?”

“Sure.”

Dean got up and went aft while John stayed on the hatch, his thoughts shifting back to packing up the house, and once again wondering if he really should have hired movers instead of enlisting his servants for the task of filling up the pallet of boxes that had just arrived this morning. It wasn’t exactly in their job description (not that they had one), but he hated beyond reason the thought of having strangers in the house. He knew he was being absurd by worrying about everyone thinking he was trying to be cheap by using “free” labor.

He went back to the cockpit to commend Sam’s steering job, then said to Dean as he was readying the poles, “Make sure they’re secured this time.”

Sam burst out laughing, then abruptly stopped himself as his dad threw a sharp look at him. Dean had lost John’s favorite pole overboard five trips ago, which the poor kid was apparently never going to hear the end of.

“I will, dad,” Dean replied with a sigh, his hopes of being forgiven dashed once again.

John suddenly remembered his vow not to be a jerk at sea, so he grinned, ruffled Sam’s hair playfully, and went down into his cabin to lay down. He ended up dozing off for the better part of an hour. When he re-emerged into the sunlight, Dean and Sam had given up fishing and were sitting way up on the bowsprit, waiting patiently for dolphins to appear alongside.

Castiel moved aside to make room for John to take the helm and murmured very quietly, “I just had quite an enlightening conversation with Dean. He’s convinced Lucifer is going to kill us both.”

John groaned. “Oh geez. He’s...I’m sorry, Cas.”

“It’s no problem. I tried to change the subject several times, but he’s persistent. Have you changed your mind about meeting with him again?”

“No. Speaking of Lucifer, though, I’ve got something bothering me and would really appreciate your perspective on it.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve been trying not to say anything for a while, because I’m not completely sure how I feel about the whole thing and didn’t want to start any fights before I worked it out within my head. But I’ve got to be honest, Cas. We are completely wrong about supporting public flogging, and the tightening of restrictions on indentured servants.”

Cas nodded. “I know you think that, John. We all do. There’s no other reason for you to delay approving the public statement for so long.”

“What does Gabriel say about it all?”

“He’s frustrated, of course. Wants to get the thing out.”

John took a deep breath and steeled himself. “No, I don’t mean that. I mean...how does he feel about the measures? Does he support them?”

Castiel took a long draw of his grape soda. “It’s not for me to say, John. You should ask him.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Well, I’m not telling you, because I’m not inside his mind.”

John noted a sudden shift in the wind, as did they boys. They jumped up to loosen the sails in order for a course change, and once it was done they started to come aft. John caught Dean’s eye and shook his head slightly, and noted with pride the way his son immediately understood the meaning. Dean subtly redirected his brother around to sit on the bow again, and John picked up the conversation from where they had left off before he could lose his nerve.

“What would you say if I said we’re going to oppose them both and ally with Lucifer in our messaging?”

“We’ve run with Lucifer’s messaging before, John, and vice versa. So I would say, fine, let’s do it. What is it about _this_ particular subject that’s upsetting you so much?”

“Oh, nothing. Just the little fact that our constituents are total assholes and will run me out of office for betraying them and their vengeful ideals. That’s all, no big deal.”

Castiel nodded. “Probably.”

“Probably? Thanks for making me feel better, Cas!” John replied in disgust.

“You didn’t hire me to make you feel better. My job is to find out the truth to help guide your decisions. Opposing those measures is going to cost you. All of us, actually.”

“Great. That’s even more comforting. Thanks.”

Chuck suddenly slid open the hatch to announce lunch was ready, and John snapped harshly at him, “Wait until I tell you _we’re_ ready!”

Castiel stood up and set down his bottle. “I need to use the restroom, John.”

“The head.”

“What?”

 _Sigh_. “The toilet on a boat is called...you know what, never mind.”

“Okay. Be right back.”

That was the end of the conversation for now; John knew. Castiel had ways of defusing him that he couldn’t fight back against, and suddenly having to make an exit for personal needs was one of them. He would most likely stay awhile for a while to let John’s temper cool. Damn it.

John pulled out his phone, then remembered he had no signal out here. But he could still read emails that had already come in, and scrolled down to the latest from Lucifer.

_John, just learned of some new intel regarding measures that will be on the April ballot. I know it’s far away, but we should talk. No doubt we’ll disagree on all except one, which I think you should be made aware of sooner or later as it affects both of our sons directly. I think you catch my meaning. If you’re up for dinner again, let me know. - Lucifer_

Once again, John felt a sweet taste of victory rush through his heart. That could only mean one thing; Lucifer had introduced him to Cole Trenton, and now John’s measure regarding prohibiting photographers from selling photos of minors had passed through the house. There was no reason for any of their constituents to downvote it. Soon Sam and Dean would be free of the harassment that had made all of their lives so miserable.

———-

**February 9, 1995**

**FBI Headquarters - Philadelphia**

Bela Talbot was often unhappy, good fortune often missing out of her life, but this level of unhappiness was new and untested. She didn’t know why she cared so much about John Winchester, or why Michael felt the same, or even why the president himself tried so hard to keep the man in line and in office. But they all did care about him, for whatever reason, which made the most recent report even more disappointing than the last.

“Bela, may I come in?”

Michael was standing at the office door, realizing his boss hadn’t even seen him approaching because she was so engrossed in the stack of papers in front of her.

“Sure. You may not want to, though, after what I’m about to show you.”

“Oh god. What did John do now?” He sat down and took a mint from the candy bowl as Bela handed him a printed copy of an email that she had received the day before.

“Senator Trenton?” Michael exclaimed immediately.

“Yes. Read it.”

\--

_To: Office of Ethics and Integrity_

_Bela Talbot, Director_

_Ms. Talbot, it is my obligation to report to you that yesterday, Feb 8, 1995 John Winchester called me from his cell phone to offer cash for pushing his recent measure through the House for the April 1 ballot. I declined, of course. Under the Whistleblower Act of 1994 I exercise my right to decline to answer any further questions regarding this matter unless required by a lawful process._

_Regards,_

_Cole Trenton_

“There is no way John did that,” Michael scoffed immediately, handing the paper back to Bela in disgust. “Absolutely no way. He’s smarter than that, not to mention more ethical. This is bullshit.”

“Cole has no reason to lie. None,” Bela refuted sternly.

“Except that he used to work for Lucifer! That gives him all the reason in the world.”

“Lucifer fired him from his dream job, Michael. They hate each other.”

Michael sat back in his chair. “Oh...that’s right.”

“Cole was really tight with Uriel, and I remember that the incident caused friction between him and Lucifer. Add it to John’s file. We can’t ask him about it directly unless there is evidence, so we’ll check his phone records next cycle. Have you questioned him about the photography payments yet?”

“No. We’ve contacted four of the six photographers involved in that incident, and none have had anything to say about it. They’re either lying, or they weren’t paid and it really was a glitch in the financials.”

“Opportunists lying? To the FBI?” Bela asked in mock incredulity. “Who would imagine such a thing. Keep trying to contact the other two. There’s no rush. We just have to do this right.”

“I think it would be very strange of them to lie in order to protect an Insurrectionist.”

“Not if they were promised future payments for complying. Or for their silence.”

“Right. We’ve also discovered that John did disconnect his home phone. I’d say he knew we were tapping him, but the family is moving to a new house in two weeks and it could just be a utilities changeover.”

Bela smiled a little. “No. He knew, and it’s not a crime to unplug a phone. Leave it alone for now. It’s not like we were getting anything out of it, anyway.”

Michael nodded. “John is much smarter than that. If he really _did_ call Senator Trenton yesterday, I guarantee you it won’t be in his phone records. He’ll have used a secondary phone we aren’t auditing so that we can’t prove anything without issuing a subpoena for statements.”

“Even then we can’t prove anything. I couldn’t ever have imagined John offering money like this before, but now that he’s proved he’s capable of it with that photographer business, I don’t think we can put anything past him.”

“No.” Michael was slightly depressed to discover he felt the same way. “I’m still upset we still haven’t resolved the mystery behind his calls to a Colorado cell number at the time of Ruby’s murder, either. Until that’s cleared, I guess we should keep all the possibilities on the table.”

Bela opened her laptop back up, signaling the imminent end of the meeting. “I’m inclined to believe the senator, Michael. Off the record, of course. You’re free to believe whatever you’d like, but we can’t let our opinions influence our investigation.”

“No ma’am.”

Michael went back to his desk, and for an hour he grudgingly resisted the urge to pick up the phone and call John Winchester to ask him about it directly.

He desperately wanted Bela to be wrong, but he strongly suspected she wasn’t.

After another long struggle with his logic going around in circles, he gave in and picked up the phone.

\---------------------

**Insurrectionist HQ - Los Angeles**

John didn’t want to get out of the car. He was tired and the day hadn’t even begun yet. His calendar was already packed with meetings, and he wouldn’t even have privacy at lunch thanks to the monthly birthdays party for the office. Normally he enjoyed those occasions immensely, as it took him out of his normal schedule and allowed him to socialize and relax for a little while before tackling the afternoon.

He dug his phone out of his pocket as the phone rang.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Gabe and Charlie and I are in the conference room. Do you want us to wait, or shall we reschedule?”

Sigh. “I’m downstairs. Coming. Wait...I have an incoming call from Michael. Shit. Don’t leave, okay? Just wait for me.”

He clicked over to the incoming call.

“John Winchester.”

“Morning, John. I just need a second. Are you alone?”

“Yes I am. How can I help you?”

“Quick question, off the record. Your measure is going to be on the April 1 ballot. Were you aware of that?”

“Not officially. Rumors only. Glad to hear it.”

“And Cole Trenton helped you with that?”

 _Pause._ “Yes. All above board and via official channels. Lucifer introduced me to him directly. Why do you ask?”

“So...it was _Lucifer_ who introduced you to him?” That was odd.

“Yes. I thought it was strange, considering their history. But as I said, all above board. Is something wrong?”

Michael cleared his throat. “No, sorry. The question I called to ask is whether or not there was any, uh, compensation that passed between the two of you for his assistance. Or any offer of compensation. This is not an accusation, John, let me be clear.”

“Between me and Lucifer? Of course not!”

“No, I meant...between you and Senator Trenton.”

“I can’t believe you’re even asking me this,” John replied, rightfully indignant. “Obviously you have some kind of suspicion, or you wouldn’t have called. What’s going on?”

 _Oh shit,_ Michael thought frantically. _I never should have called. If Bela finds out about this, my ass is so grass…._

“Just look at it from my point of view. Passing a brand new measure in the House within a week is unheard of. And this Senator isn’t known for his quick action on anything. Surely you can understand our concern?”

That relaxed John a little, and he backed off on the attitude, although his tone was still sharp. “I do. But if you remember that my measure helps Lucifer’s son as well, you’ll realize who Cole was really in it for. He didn’t care about what I want. He just wants to kiss Lucifer’s ass and try to get back on his good side. _That’s_ why he lit a fire under it. Any more questions, Michael? I’m late for a meeting.”

“No. Thank you for your time, John.”

John hung up without saying goodbye, and stormed upstairs into the conference room where his team was waiting impatiently. He took a copy of Gabriel’s draft media statement out of his briefcase and slowly tore it to shreds as he talked.

“Alright, team. I’ve heard all of your arguments, opinions, and strategies. Thank you for your thoughtful input and valid concerns. I’ve made my decision. The Insurrectionists are officially opposing these March 1 measures. There will be no tolerance for public flogging, or indentured servitude for minors under our watch, and that’s the end of it. Gabriel, get out a pen and paper. We need a new media statement that allies us with the Opportunists.”

Gabriel reached into his briefcase to comply, then took a deep breath as he uncapped his pen.

“You might finally start a revolt with this one, John,” he murmured quietly. “At the very least, our constituents will throw you out of office on March 2.”

“ _Another_ revolt, you mean. Let them. You all agreed with me that these measures are wrong, never mind the ones that passed in October thanks to the damned elitists. It’s about time we all got the balls to fight back against them.” He looked at Charlie apologetically. “What’s the female equivalent of that saying?”

“Something about ovaries, maybe? But we don’t have a saying, because women are in a perpetual state of fighting back. Don’t need balls, because we don't rest. Must be why they’re retractable.”

John closed his eyes briefly. “Yeah, never mind. Sorry I asked. Gabe, stop giggling and start writing.”


	39. The Circus is in Town

**Feb 12, 1995**

**Opportunist Headquarters - Denver**

“It isn’t just for show, Uriel,” Lucifer repeated for the third time. “John is putting his career at risk by aligning with us. He knows this is the right thing. You know what he told me? That he’s totally prepared to lose his job over this March 1 vote. Come November, he probably will.”

Uriel wasn’t convinced by this line of thinking; he knew John far too well to resist cataloguing this sudden capitulation as anything but another devious scheme.

“Is that why you talked him into it? To turn his constituents against him?”

Lucifer laughed. “Have you ever been able to talk John into anything? Because I haven’t. He does what he wants, and _only_ what he wants. This was _his_ decision. Look, I know you hate the guy, but he’s not up to anything this time.”

“He’s always up to something. Always. He was conspiring to get me thrown in jail while having dinner with my family on Thanksgiving day.”

“That was twelve years ago. Are you ever going to stop bringing it up on a weekly basis?”

Lucifer knew it was a rhetorical question, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking anyway for the hundredth time. Uriel would forever be unable to forgive his former compatriot for publicly exposing their own party’s private communications in the middle of the Second American Revolution. The immediate backlash over Uriel’s unspeakably treacherous plans as leader of the Insurrectionists forced the rebels to all but disband and morph into multiple factions, and Uriel - along with his entire leadership team - was quickly jailed for the rest of the war by President Azazel for making terroristic plots against the government.

John’s whistleblowing was the reason the more radical group of Opportunists came into existence in the first place, and it thrilled modern historians that one single clerk with a dislike of attracting attention to himself could cause such a rift in the historical timeline of the nation. And not just once - the infamous candid photo of him at a protest had started the war, after all. It thrilled the historians even more that the same man now led the party he had torn apart at the seams, and social studies textbooks went on for pages about the incidents. They claimed John ultimately saved the rebellion singlehandedly by insisting upon more peaceful conflict resolution, which was all part of the reason he was currently so popular amongst the more conservative citizens of the Reunited States. Which, in consequence, was also the reason why his followers had been steadily tightening the noose on criminal behavior since then.

Lucifer had considered John a hero at the time, but that was before he discovered his own radical leanings. Once he did, he left the Insurrectionists and worked his way up over two years to take over as leader of the Opportunists. Then he hired Uriel the moment he was out of jail after the government fell, and the rest was history.

“I’m just reminding you, Lucifer, in case you’ve forgotten,” Uriel grumbled angrily. "Winchester was my secretary, trusted by everyone with their lives, and he threw us under the bus faster than you can count to three. I never saw it coming, and you’re not seeing it this time, either. He’s up to something, and you’re going to get-”

Lucifer stood up abruptly. “Alright, that’s enough. You can’t keep letting the past dictate the future. We’ve cooperated with John before, and you barely said a word about it. Why complain now? Are you in support of those measures and haven’t told me yet, or what? Explain to me what the problem is.”

Uriel blinked a few times and uncrossed his arms. “The problem is that you’re trusting John Winchester after he has spent years trying to bring you down. I don’t understand it.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t trust him, and think he’s a complete dick. You know that without even having to ask. These measures are for the good of the nation, and if he can help us get them passed, then more power to us. We need the support of his constituents.”

“Not going to happen. He’s going to oppose the measures. He’s playing you. Castiel and Gabriel will never agree to go against the party line.”

“They already have,” Lucifer interrupted quietly as he reached over to his printer and handed the new email from John to his irate second-in-command. “I just got a preview of their media statement that’s going out in ten minutes. Take a look.”

\-------------

  **Same time**

**Insurrectionists HQ - Los Angeles**

“Well, John,” Gabriel said with a sigh as he placed the statement into the fax machine for distribution through the wire service. “It’s been nice working with you. I suppose you’ve chosen new leadership for the party already? You’re going to need them in about fifteen minutes.”

John didn’t look up, but smiled a little as he tapped his pen on his desk calendar. March 1 was 18 days away. Perhaps enough time to reason with his constituents, perhaps not…

“Relax, Gabe. We’ll have until November to figure that out. Are you absolutely certain that holding off on a press conference is a good strategy? I feel like we should have one today.”

“No,” replied Castiel from his post next to the window, where he was watching hungrily as a large group of people on the street crowded around a food truck. “I’d say no less than 24 hours, but I’m not the PR guy.”

“Absolutely not today,” Gabriel agreed. “Even longer than that. I’d say 48 hours. Until then, say your prayers.”

“I already have,” Cas answered seriously.

“Stop it.” John frowned as he set his pen back in the holder and stood up to stretch. “No more gloom and doom. We agreed on a strategy, so we have to willingly and calmly take the consequences. Neither one of you indicated you want to back down so far. Any change to that?”

Gabriel and Castiel looked at each other, then at John, then solemnly shook their heads.

“Right. So. There we have it.” He looked at Gabriel and nodded once. “Hit the transmit button.”

Gabriel appeared to count to ten before taking a deep breath and pushing the button, a move which he performed with his usual dramatic flair. Then the three men stood around like statues, rooted to the carpet as the fax machine began its ministrations. Lost in their own thoughts, no one looked at each other as the process was carried on. After several minutes when the transmittal receipt was spitting out and the tension was winding down, John finally spoke up.

“Gents. Look at me.” When they had both complied, he took a deep breath. “I’m grateful to stand beside you in this moment. I’m proud of you both. Of all of us. We’ll get through this, okay? We’re doing the right thing. You _know_ that.”

“Yes, sir,” they both said together in matching melancholy tones. _Sir._ Not what John wanted to hear at the moment from his two best friends. But he was quickly cheered when Castiel’s stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the seriousness of the moment.

“Sorry,” Cas mumbled, his cheeks flushing red in embarrassment.

“I’m hungry, too,” John replied as he turned to put his coat on. “Let’s go down the block to Blue Daisy. My treat.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for us to appear in public right now?” Castiel asked somberly.

“Yes,” John and Gabe said together, then John added, “We have to appear as normal as possible. Business as usual. Disappearing from view after such a controversial statement would be the worst possible course right now. Come on.”

The three friends left the room and went downstairs; John was too rattled to think of taking a moment for the others to grab their jackets from their offices down the hall. The little group crossed the street in silence, two of the trio clutching themselves against the wind, and all three shaking from the cold and frayed nerves.

Behind them their guards followed closely, peacefully unaware of the shitstorm that was about to slam them all.

\---------------

The death threats started immediately. John’s email address somehow became public by late afternoon, as did his cell phone number. The same fate befell Castiel and Gabriel. All three of them were inundated with messages from irate constituents, and John’s assistant had quite a task on her hands trying to sort through the mess. She forwarded the few messages of support to his alternate, secret email address, which failed to cheer him even one bit.

But what did cheer him was the knowledge that people still had the lack of sense in this day and age to send their deeply disturbing threats in ways that made them easily identifiable. He had Ellen forward the worst email threats to his contact at the police department, and on the way home he would stop by to play the voicemails for them to hear. Those idiots would be quickly arrested, and hopefully unable to vote come March 1. The people John really worried about were the ones who might be serious about doing something, in which case they would keep their identities hidden.

But then again...all this had happened before, and all this would happen again. No one at Insurrectionists headquarters was fazed by the media and satellite tracks filling up the streets - it could hardly be worse than it was after John threatened Lucifer last year on live television - but as John packed up to leave at 5pm he realized he had forgotten all about the impact this would have on Sam and Dean. Last year, they had been at their grandfather’s house in Wyoming when shit went down, and were blissfully unaware of all that followed.

This time, though...they would know. The house would be swarmed by media, the streets belatedly blocked at both ends by police. He looked at his phone for the first time in hours and saw seven missed calls from Dean within the last half hour, then two from Sam.

Then one from Lisa only thirty seconds ago.

_Shit._

He decided to call Lisa back first from the speakerphone on his desk while he packed his briefcase.

“You guys okay?” he asked quickly. “I’m leaving the office in five minutes.”

“Sam’s fine. Dean’s having a panic attack from all the mess out front. He thinks something happened to you. Chuck’s helping him through it now.”

“Let him know I’m okay and will be home soon. I have to go. Are the police there to keep the idiots off my lawn?”

“Yes. You need to talk to him,” Lisa insisted, and John agreed.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Dad! What the...what the…”

John tried to keep his voice cheerful. “Oh, the usual...your dad made the news again, but this time it’s for a good reason. Everything’s okay. I’ll explain when I get home. You gonna be okay?”

“They’ve been here for hours! Why didn’t you call to let us know you’re not dead?”

John couldn’t very well say he forgot all about the very existence of his boys for five hours, so he dodged the question as best he could. “The guards could have let you know, they’re all in contact with each other. Ask them next time. Can you-”

“Next time?!”

“Dean. I’m coming home now. I have to go. Bye.”

He hung up and then turned to find Castiel standing in his doorway.

“Hey,” John said casually as he closed the four latches on his briefcase. “Bit of a shitstorm out there.”

“ _You think_?”

John blinked in surprise; it wasn’t like Cas to be sarcastic. When he did, it was always because he was extremely angry about something...and that was rare.

“Are you riding home with me?” he asked neutrally.

Castiel shook his head. “No. Going to be here late.”

“Nothing you can do in the next few hours will make this better. Don’t argue with me, just get packed and let’s go. What’s wrong, anyway? You seem upset.”

“I am. Dean called me about a hundred times while I was in the strategy meeting. You really didn’t think to let your kids know to expect all this mayhem on their front lawn?”

John sighed, wondering how to make this better and realizing he couldn’t. “No, I didn’t, Cas. I’m sorry. I just talked to Dean and he’s okay now.”

“No, he’s not. He’s having a panic attack. I was standing right here and heard it all.”

John froze. There was something really off about Castiel’s attitude that he didn’t recognize, and he certainly didn’t like the tone. But he wasn’t going to start a fight with him about it when he was the one in the wrong.

“Alright. Dean had a panic attack because his father is an idiot. Stay late if you want, then.”

“I will. It’s not like I have kids to go home to, after all. Kids that would love to know I’m still alive.”

John walked over to his coat closet and took his time buttoning the woolen jacket all the way down. He felt his temper flare up a little over the man’s untimely eavesdropping, but he fought it back down considering they butted in on each other’s calls like that all the time.

“Cas, I said I’m sorry. No, I didn’t inform the boys. It was thoughtless and stupid, okay? I’m the worst father of the year for like sixteen years in a row now, you shouldn’t be surprised. Can you be done glaring at me now, please?”

John turned around to look at Castiel to check on that last point, and instead found Benny there staring at him in confusion. Awkward.

John cleared his throat. “Uh. I wasn’t talking to myself, I swear. Where did Cas go?”

“Went into his office about thirty seconds ago, boss. Are you ready for Garth to pull the car around?”

 _Sigh_. “Yes. Let’s go home, Benny.”


	40. Uriel's Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows previous chapter. Not too much happens in this one. The next one is where things really start to catch on fire for poor John.
> 
> Thank you to all my readers for your wonderful comments. Love you.

**Same evening**

**Winchester Household**

John’s anger at his guards arose suddenly on the way home, without him even realizing at first what he was mad about. There was just a sort of vague feeling of discontent swirling around in his brain, then it spread to his chest. By the time Garth had fought through the mess of cars to his driveway, he had figured it out and was thoroughly irate from head to toe. As they went through the front door he ordered Benny into his study even before saying hello to Chuck or going up to check on Dean.

“Explain this to me, please,” he began tersely as he shut the door behind him and circled around his favorite guard. “Dean had a panic attack this afternoon because nobody bothered to tell him his father is still alive. Not only that, but I just learned both my sons were sent home early from school and nobody bothered to tell me. Are you all not communicating with each other? What’s the issue here, exactly?”

“Sir, you won’t let us tell the boys anything. Lisa knew Dean was panicking, and she called me for permission to let them know what was happening.”

“And you didn’t think to ask me for it?”

“No. We already have explicit instructions that say otherwise, as you’ve reminded me time and again. And Lisa left you a voicemail about them going home early due to the press arriving at Gabriel’s house.”

Neither explanation soothed John’s temper. “Alright. My fault again for trusting that common sense will always prevail. Obviously, the boys can know I’m alive if they ask. Castiel and Gabriel are the only ones who have permission to inform them if I’m not. I also need to know when they go home early from school, and not by voicemail. Is that simple enough for everyone to understand, or do I need to dumb it down even further?”

Benny cocked his head a little and looked at his boss with an expression that subtly indicated he would love to throttle the mighty leader of the Insurrectionists to tiny little bits.

“Crystal clear, sir,” he answered calmly.

“Is there something you want to say?” John challenged, not yet aware that he was wildly overreacting to what was really his own guilt over the matter.

“Not until you’ve calmed down.”

“Take a number, it’s going to be a long wait. Rewrite the policy and send it to me in one hour.”

John strode past him and hurried upstairs to Dean. He dreaded this conversation - confrontation, perhaps - and had a feeling he’d regret not waiting until he had collected his thoughts and was in a more polite mood.

Dean was half-asleep in Sam’s bed, while Sam was sitting next to him on the floor, playing video games on the television.

“No, don’t get up,” John said gently to both of them as he sat next to Dean’s limp body. There was a well-used paper bag on the nightstand.

“Hey, I’m here. You okay?”

“Feel sick,” Dean grumbled without moving. “Headache. What’s going on? Are you in trouble again?”

“Not at all. I just released a statement today that didn’t go over too well with my constituents.”

“Your _whats_?” Sam asked.

“A constituent is a member of my party who is eligible to vote,” John clarified. “Pause your video game for a second, please.”

“How many do you have?” Sam asked curiously as he reached over to switch off the Nintendo.

John didn’t want to say the real number - just over 120 million - because he thought that would be way too much for the boys to take in.

“About a third of the nation, give or take a little.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “And they’re all mad at you right now?”

“Not all of them.” _Only the vast majority of them._

Dean flopped over onto his back and eyed his father suspiciously. His hands were trembling.

“So...you didn’t do anything wrong this time?”

“Depends on who you ask. My opinion carries a lot of weight, so when I say or do something unexpected, everyone freaks the fuck out.”

“Why was it unexpected?’

“It’s just like I always say: we do what we think is right, even if everyone else thinks it’s wrong, and then we accept the consequences. That’s exactly what I did today, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Sam pitched in quietly, “If you did the right thing, what is everyone so mad about?”

John smiled a little. “Because they’re confused about what the right thing actually is. They’ll come around.”

Dean scoffed bitterly. “The other right thing to do would have been to let us know you were okay! You said Uncle Cas would always pick up my phone calls no matter what, remember? I called him like 50 times and he never answered, so I thought…I thought…”

Dean’s eyes were misty again, and John now had an enormous lump in his throat.

“Not his fault, don’t be mad at him. None of our cell phones were working this afternoon. I was going to call you the minute you guys got out of school, but the day got away with me.”

“It always does,” Dean muttered.

“I’m really sorry, kiddo,” John said sincerely as he pulled the blanket up to Dean’s chin. “You’re shaking pretty bad. Need some water?”

“Apple juice, please.”

John looked at Sam, who immediately made his way to the kitchen.

Once he was gone, John leaned down to whisper in his other son’s ear. “There’s something I have to tell you. It’s really important you keep it to yourself, because no one else knows yet, and they won’t for a long time. It’s absolutely critical that you never repeat it. I mean it. You promise?”

Dean nodded.

“Not good enough. Say out loud that you promise. Swear it.”

He did, somewhat nervously, and John took a deep breath.

“I’m not going to run again for office in November. This is my last term as leader of the Insurr-”

Dean sat up and threw his arms around his dad, and thoroughly burst into tears. John couldn’t help it; he cried a little too at the happiness the news gave his son.

“Dad! That’s like...that’s the _last_ thing I expected you to tell me today.”

“I mean it when I say you can’t tell a soul. Not even Sam. If you do, I swear that I’ll-”

“I won’t,” Dean insisted urgently, between sniffles. “I _won’t_ , I promise. Did you get fired?”

“Ha. Who would fire me? I’m the one in charge. Lay back down and relax. You gonna be alright?”

Dean grinned and wiped his nose. “Yeah. Hell yeah, dad. I’m awesome. But why won’t you tell Sam?”

“Because he has a big mouth. For now, nobody knows but you. Not even Uncle Cas.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I won’t announce it until June or so. That’s a long time to keep a secret, but I trust you. There’s one more thing. I think it’s a bad idea for you to watch the news right now, so I’m going to revoke my permission on that for a few more weeks. I’m not even going to allow myself to watch until this blows over. It’s not healthy for either of us. Do you understand?”

Dean looked deeply disappointed for a moment, but he didn’t dwell on it. “Yeah, I guess.”

Sam reappeared with the glass of juice and froze by the door, staring uncomprehendingly at the strange sight of his tearful but widely-grinning brother.

“Um. Sorry it took so long. I had to go to the fridge in the pool house.” He walked into the room at a glacial pace, talking all the way. “But I told Chuck to put some more in the kitchen. Asked him, I mean. He said he would. Anyway, here you go.”

“Thanks,” John replied as he reached out for the glass. “He’s okay, Sammy, relax. We were just having a bit of a laugh after all this stress. Dean, go back to your room and rest before dinner. Come on, up.”

“I’m too dizzy,” Dean complained as he struggled against his dad’s grip. “Can’t I just stay here?”

“Nope. Up you go. Slowly. That’s good. You’re fine. Into your own bed. Thank you.”

Dean trudged out and John watched him disappear into his room, then he turned back to Sam.

“Thanks for your help with his panic attack. I know he appreciated it.”

Sam turned his Nintendo back on and flopped onto the bed without making any response.

“You mad at me?” his dad asked after a moment.

“Yep,” Sam mumbled.

John sighed internally. _What else is new?_ he thought dismally. “Okay, well...dinner is in one hour and you know there’s no attitude allowed at the table, so either get it out of your system now or forever hold your peace.”

“Whatever, dad,” Sam replied rudely.

“Wrong answer.” John strode over and turned off the television with a quick jab to the power button. “Get your butt down to the spare room.”

Sam didn’t protest for once, and quietly turned off the game and got up. John almost felt sorry for him. No, strike that. He _definitely_ felt sorry, and quite guilty for keeping such a huge secret from him.

“Wait. Just...never mind. Carry on with your video games. You know where to find me if you need to talk.”

Sam didn’t even do a double-take at the unprecedented turnaround. He was too tired from today’s drama. “Most of the time I _don’t_ know where to find you, dad. That’s why I’m mad.”

John’s heart fell a little. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future. See you at dinner.”

He fled down the stairs and decided to make an impromptu visit outside to check out the media circus. Benny scrambled up from his little desk in the hallway to accompany him out the front door, sighing inwardly along the way.

There were two state police officers standing on the screened-in porch, somberly guarding the front door like ancient sentinels at an Egyptian tomb. John’s sudden appearance startled them both, but they quickly recovered.

“How’s it going out here?” he asked mildly.

“Good evening, sir. All is well now that we’ve closed the street all the way to Olympic and Pico. Easy to keep the cars out, but the pedestrians are another matter.”

“Hmmm. At least we won’t have to worry about them when I move into my new house. The eight-foot walls should see to that.”

“When do you move in?” one of the officers asked gingerly.

“Saturday.” John rested his gaze on the long line of beat-up cars on the street. “Look at all those photographers. Don’t know what they’re waiting for. It’s not like I’m going to stroll out and do a striptease for them.”

“No, but maybe you should. It would make everyone forget about your statement pretty quick.”

John laughed out loud, both at the wisecrack and the horrified expression on the man after he realized what he’d just said.

“Sir, I’m...I’m sorry, that was really-”

John waved the mortified apology away, still chuckling at the absurd imagery of the suggestion, then held out his hand. “John Winchester, by the way, as you already know. Thank you for your assistance with this mess. May I ask why the state police are here alongside LAPD? I didn’t realize pissing off half the nation would be such a big deal,” he joked lightly as he shook their hands, suddenly feeling a lot better about everything.

The one who didn’t make the joke said carefully, “There are all kinds of different agencies out here, even animal control.” He pointed. “Those guys in green are border patrol from Texas. We’re here in Los Angeles for a conference. It was just ending when the all-hands call for this, er, _incident_ came through. Sir, it’s my pleasure to meet you. I admire the stand you’re taking against those horrible measures.”

“Me too, sir,” said the other officer quickly. As state employees they were not allowed to talk politics while on duty and must register as independents, but this was a human issue more than anything else. John felt another surge of joy and relief within his chest.

“Thank you. That’s very kind. Where are you boys based?”

“Shasta County, sir.”

Well, so much for the warm and fuzzy feeling. John’s pleasant mood was suddenly overtaken by a dreadful sense of ice encasing his heart, and it didn’t help that Benny visibly tensed up beside him.

“I see. Well, thank you for being here, and for your support on the measures.”

“Best of luck, sir.” _You’re going to need it,_ his tone said.

“Thank you. Goodnight.”

Benny followed him in. “Shasta County, boss?” he hissed.

John grimaced as he dug out his phone. “I know. I’m gonna take care of that right now.”

“Captain Devereaux,” said the voice on the other side. “Oh, hello John. You okay?”

“Good evening. Mind telling me who parked two heavily armed dickheads from an Opportunist shithole on my front porch?” he asked with a razor-sharp edge to his tone.

“What?”

“Shasta cops, of all places. Really? Why not Denver? Why not Lucifer’s own guards? Replace them with LAPD immediately, please.”

Devereaux sounded a little strangled, like he was trying not to laugh. “I put them there. The red-headed one is my son, and the other is his best friend. Really good eggs, both of them. They’re stationed up north temporarily, and they hate it. You’re safe.”

John felt extremely foolish all of a sudden, but it was too late to take back his insults. “Jesus. I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know?”

“When you asked me for protection for your sons, did you really think I’d respond with _heavily armed dickheads from an Opportunist shithole_?”

"No, I guess not. Sorry. But you could’ve given me a heads-up so I wouldn’t have a heart attack when I opened the front door.”

“Well, I _did_ tell you to stay inside, so...”

“You know how well I listen,” John admitted with an apologetic tenor to his tone.

“Indeed.” Devereaux grunted. “Can I stop by and talk about this mess in person? I’m actually out in front of Castiel’s house right now. He just got home, so we’re all set here.”

Aha...so Cas didn’t stay late at the office after all. _He left not even ten minutes after me. Interesting._

“Yeah, come on by. We’re about to have dinner if you want to join. Just try not to say anything that will make my kids shit their pants.”

“Fluffy clouds and ponies, got it. I’ll be there in a few.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Captain Devereaux whistled as John played the last of the voicemails for him in the study. There were only fifteen; the inbox had filled up after that. But John now had over 4,000 missed calls today. He was surprised the phone hadn’t blown up yet.

“Phew. That’s some heavy stuff. Don’t delete those messages so we can record them at the station tomorrow. You’re getting a new number, I take it?”

“Yeah, all of us have to.” Just as he said that, the phone rang with another unknown number. He silenced it. “Even Dean’s number got out. You think I have any reason to be worried for my safety?”

“You’ve got half the nation pissed at you right now, so yes. You might want to consider having two guards with you all the time, instead of just the one. Maybe even a full-fledged police officer or two until this dies down.”

“Don’t say _dies_ , please. And it’s hardly half the nation. More like a quarter.”

“A third,” the captain mused. “At they’re not all here in Los Angeles, though. Listen, I’d love to stay for dinner but I have to go check on Gabriel and his family now. See you tomorrow?”

John’s phone screen lit up again, and this time he was surprised to see that it was Lucifer.

“Uh, yeah...I think we agreed on nine. I gotta take this call, so Benny will walk you out. Thanks, chief.”

The two men left, and John set down at his desk to answer the call.

“John’s house of pain, how may I hurt you?”

“Ha, nice,” chuckled Lucifer.

“Wow, sorry...hope I wasn’t on speakerphone,” John realized belatedly.

“No. Glad to see your sense of humor is still intact after today. Do you have a minute?”

“Yes. What’s going on?”

Lucifer cleared his throat. “The reaction to your statement is overwhelmingly positive here in Denver. I’m sure it’s quite the opposite in Los Angeles.”

“You are correct. What do you need?”

“I’m afraid you’re not going to like it. Uriel received a call from one of your employees about an hour ago. Said he’s pissed about your stance against the party and wanted us to pay him for information on you. Remember the same thing happened to me last month? I don’t have a phone number for you or anything, and no clue to his identity, but he said he’s pretty high up in the organization.”

John suddenly felt like vomiting. “Wait, why did Uriel get this call? Why not you?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, John, we agreed to keep talking to him. To see if we can figure out who he is for you.”

“Why would you do that?” John asked suspiciously, all alarm bells ringing at the highest volume. “Despite all the niceties lately, have you forgotten we’re not exactly friends in this game? And how do I know Uriel isn’t just making this up? He hates me.”

“I can prove it to you.”

“How? Did you record the call?”

“Yes, actually.”

 _Fuck._ John knew what was coming. A bargain, a blackmail...anything that could make this day worse was just about to happen in the next few seconds.

“Right. So, let me guess: I need to pay or do something in exchange for that recording, and for your assistance in finding out his identity.”

“Well, to quote the smartest man I know: have you forgotten we’re not exactly friends in this game? Of course there’s a price: I want you to stop using double agents, just like I did. You can have the tape, and our cooperation, with a simple agreement on that matter. That’s all I ask.”

John’s breathing hitched, and his eyes narrowed so much that he could barely see in front of him.

“No. Never. Are you recording this call, too? You know what, I don’t care. We’re done. Go fuck yourself. Why don’t you go fuck Uriel, too? I know he’s there, I can hear his mouth-breathing from here. Although I doubt he’d find any pleasure from your tiny little-”

\----

**Lucifer’s office - Denver**

Lucifer slammed down the phone and turned to Uriel with a tired shrug as he hit the “stop recording” button on the little black box next to his stapler.

“You happy now?”

“No, boss. That didn’t quite go as planned,” Uriel responded quietly, although he was silently rejoicing inside. It had gone _exactly_ as planned. He wanted Winchester pissed off at his boss as much as possible.

Lucifer sighed heavily. “Right. So much for getting him to stop using double agents now. If that didn't work, nothing will. _Fuck._ Who do you think the caller actually was? Any ideas?”

“No idea,” Uriel lied, already itching to call Gadreel to congratulate him for being so convincing.

Lucifer stood up and stared out his window, feeling depressed and guilty suddenly.

“Send him the tape anyway. Make a copy of it and overnight it.”

Uriel’s heart almost stopped; if not, then it certainly missed more than a few very important beats. “Wait. What? After what...you just...I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand; it’s a direct order. Do it. I want it dropped at FedEx tomorrow by noon. And Uriel? No more of these games. I understand what happened tonight, but I need him on my good side. I know you hate him, and you have to put that aside or else we’re going to have a serious problem. I’m going home.”

\------------------

**Winchester House**

John was so angry about Lucifer’s call that he could barely stomach the idea of food as he sat down at the table with Benny and his sons - well, one of them, anyway. Sam hadn’t shown up yet.

“Dean, go get your brother,” John ordered at 7:02pm. He didn’t tolerate his kids being late for anything, and this would lead to a chat in the study if there wasn’t a good excuse for Sam’s tardiness.

Dean flew up the stairs, and John turned to Benny. “Hey, what did you think about the chief’s suggestion that we have a couple real police officers hanging around here for a while? I don’t think it’s a bad idea. I mean, we’re down one guard anyway.”

“Agreed. Why don’t you ask him about those two on the front porch? Sounds like they want to get away from Shasta, and this could be a good excuse to get them out.”

“Hmmm. Good idea. Did you send me the new policy?”

“Fifteen minutes after you asked me for it, yes. To your personal email. Once you approve it, I’ll post it downstairs. You okay, boss? You seem...you look red.”

“I wish I could explain, I really do. But it’s a party matter. Internal thing. I need to talk to Castiel.”

“Not to pry, but...are you even on speaking terms right now?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

They waited a few more minutes, and John got up to venture to Sam’s room. He and Dean were arguing, and John didn’t need to hear what it was all about. He already knew Sam was still pouting and trying to make a statement, and Dean was trying to convince him otherwise.

“...not that big of a deal, please. Don’t get him mad. He’s had a horrible day. Come on!”

They turned as John entered the room. “Dean, downstairs.”

“Dad, please don’t, he’s just upset about...a lot.”

“I know. Move.”

He crossed his arms and waited until Dean was out of earshot. “Sam, you have to eat. If you think I’m going to just let you stay up here and-”

“I don’t care what you do anymore,” Sam replied angrily, flopping himself down on his bed.

“You have exactly one more chance to obey me. I’m going to count to five.”

He got to four before Sam flung himself back on his feet and angrily stomped down the stairs. Once he got to the table, however, he was angelic and quiet. Dean watched them both with wide eyes as they ate in silence. Normally, their dad would be chatting throughout the entire meal and asking everyone questions about their day, and pulling out answers from them that they were holding back. He was a veritable master at table conversation.

Tonight, however, he didn’t say a word.


	41. The Sickroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place 16 days after the last chapter. Please recall that Gadreel made the payments to the photographers without John's knowledge.
> 
> A LOT of stuff has gone down in 16 days. Jumping ahead, and nearing the conclusion at full speed ahead. I hope you all are still enjoying the story.

**Wednesday, March 1, 1995**

**Winchester House #2 - Los Angeles**

John Winchester was exhausted and terribly sick. The past 16 days had stretched his stamina and patience to the limits. Not only was he dealing with the backlash of his own party, but he had also moved into a new house, ignored Lucifer and Michael to the point of being summoned to Philadelphia, was nearly forced to fire Charlie for an inadvertent information leak (John sorely wished the “reply all” option could be removed from email altogether), and had been obliged to take the increasingly rebellious Sam into his new study almost every day. He was at wits’ end with the boy.

There were a few bright spots. Dean had been unusually angelic and encouraging, and Gabriel not far behind...but it wasn’t enough. The rest of shit he was putting up with was too much, and coupled with Castiel’s inexplicable coldness towards him lately, John was skirting the edge of multiple breakdowns.

The March 1 vote was occurring today, and by noon he found himself quarantined in his home with a sore throat so severe he could not speak at all. Even worse, he couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to read and reply to emails. The only person who would visit him now was Gabriel, who had already gone through the same strain of flu and considered himself immune to getting it again. John prayed he was right, and he had rarely prayed for anything before.

“Hey, John, can I come in?” Gabriel called from the bedroom door when he visited after work. Then, remembering John couldn’t speak, he let himself in. “Shake your head if you want me to leave. No? Okay. I brought you some green tea.”

Now John shook his head.

“Sorry, just a little joke. It’s a London Fog with lavender, naturally. Your chef spent many dramatic minutes putting it together, so try to pretend you like it. What day are you due to go to Philadelphia?”

John held up three fingers.

“March 3? Yeah, no way. Look at you. Want me to call Michael?”

John nodded after significant hesitation, and Gabriel took a deep breath as he pulled out his phone.

“Michael? I’m sorry to call so late. This is Gabriel Angel, on behalf of John Winchester. Yes, you too, thank you. I’m with John. He’s too ill to come to Philadelphia on Friday. May we-”

There was a long pause, and Gabriel looked puzzled through most of it. “But he, he can’t...he can’t speak or work right now, I assure you. His temperature is almost 103. You what?......no, that’s not acceptable, I’m sorry.”

John was so drained that he didn’t care what proposal of Michael’s that Gabe considered acceptable or not, and he let his friend fight for him without trying to intervene. In fact, he could just drift off to sleep right now. _Yes, that would be really nice_. He started to slip out of consciousness a little, Gabriel’s angry but level words blurring together into a not unpleasant droning noise. In and out, in and out, until he could hear his blood rushing and feel his heart beating. Then the lights and sound  inside his head went out altogether.

\----

When John awoke again, it was pitch black outside and Gabriel was asleep on the sofa on the other side of the room. He tried to call out for him, but no sound emerged, so John picked up the remote control for his television and aimed to throw it against the wall.

Unfortunately he had no strength, and the remote made it all of four feet away from the bed, with nary a thump on the thick carpet.

So John closed his eyes and went back to sleep again. This time, he woke to a doctor hovering over him, with Gabriel pacing in the background.

“What the-” he tried, to no avail.

“You’re alright, Mr. Winchester. It’s Doctor Milligan. I work at Palisades Hospital and you’ve seen me once before.”

John looked at Gabriel and held up three fingers again, with an accompanying quizzical expression.

“Yes, it took some wrangling but Michael agreed to postpone until March 10. You’re all set.”

The three fingers changed to a thumbs-up, and then John tapped his wrist. Someone had taken his watch off.

“It’s just after 5am,” the doctor replied casually. “You’re going to be alright in about a week. It’s unusual to have such a severe strain of this flu in healthy, strong men like you, but you’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress. But I can-”

“The vote,” John rasped desperately.

The doctor ignored that. “I can assure you that you won’t see the end of the week if you don’t get hydrated. Since you can’t keep anything down, we need to move you to the hospital now.”

“Obviously a good idea, but how are we going to manage it without an ambulance, and without the press getting into a feeding frenzy?” queried Gabriel gloomily. They continued the discussion turned away from the bed in order to diplomatically ignore John’s silent, writhing protest.

“The...vote…” he croaked in vain.

Gabriel turned back around after a few minutes and swallowed hard. “Listen, you gotta go to the hospital. I insist, no arguing.”

“No, no, and no. Fuck you,” John whispered slowly and painfully.

“Alrighty, then.” Gabriel let out a resigned sigh and looked at the doctor. “That’s that. Hell will have to literally freeze over before this man agrees to go to the hospital. You’ve gotta do your thing here.”

“Alright. Then I have to call my tech in, and a nurse.”

“Do it,” Gabe said with finality. He didn’t look at John as he left the room and went into the hallway. Dean and Sam were both standing there, looking pale and scared.

“Hey guys. Good news, he’s going to be fine. It’s just the flu. I had it too, though not as bad. We’re calling in a nurse to help him out for a few days and stay with him. Go back to bed, and after breakfast I want you each to pack a bag for Castiel’s house so you don’t risk getting this thing, too. You’re probably have to stay over for four or five days.”

“Can’t we stay with you?” Dean asked quietly, and it was nothing against Castiel. Just that it would be easier, since their school was in the same house.

“Unfortunately not. You know Cas is your legal guardian when John is unavailable.”

“I know, but-”

“ _No_ , and don’t ask me again. Back to bed, both of you.”

For a moment Dean was going to protest, but he took another look at Gabriel’s no-nonsense determination and wisely changed his mind. When the boys had gone, Gabe reluctantly went back into John’s room.

“Okay, boss. While we wait for the nurse, I’m going to tell you about the vote.” He looked meaningfully at Doctor Milligan, who picked up his chart and left the room.

“Well?” John queried in a rasp once the door had closed.

“Public flogging didn’t pass. It was close, nearly a tie. All your long nights of writing and giving all those fiery speeches paid off, against all odds. Congratulations, John.”

“Motherfucker,” John muttered, unable to celebrate the win because he already realized that Gabriel was cheerfully giving him the good news first in order to prepare him for the bad.

“What was that?” Gabe asked, genuinely not having understood the comment.

“Nothing. And?”

“I can’t understand what you’re saying, so I’ll just continue. You already knew that the other one really had no hope of failing. Too many of the elite independents supported it, and in the end it wasn’t even close. Even a large swath of Opportunists voted for it, which is a surprise.”

John nodded, feeling sick to his stomach now on top of everything else. The measures to toughen up the parameters of indentured servitude and sentence the children of felons to such a life was about to become reality. And that, in part, was caused by the Insurrectionist’s past stances on other related issues. Everything was cause and effect in politics, but had John foreseen this development, he never would have supporting cutting back on undocumented day laborers seven years ago.

Gabriel pulled up a chair and sat next to his beloved boss, who was staring blankly at the ceiling. Gently he said, “I know what you’re thinking, John. But please stop. We couldn’t have predicted this back when we supported other measures that indirectly led up to it. This is never what we wanted. I’m going to take advantage of the fact that you can’t speak right now, which means you can’t argue with me, and I’m going to tell you something I’ve always wanted to say. You are a good man. Everything you’ve ever done - in your entire life - was for a good reason and for the greater good of all. The sacrifices you’ve made, the endless strategizing, the long hours, the writing, the speaking...none of it will be in vain because of one wrong measure.”

“Four,” John croaked. He was referring to this one, and the three that he had failed to stop last year.

“Leave it to you to argue even in this condition. Four, then. Out of how many? Listen, I’m not going to put up with you feeling sorry for yourself over this. Neither will Castiel. Your conscience should be clear because you truly did the best you could to prevent this outcome. I mean...look at you right now, you’ve nearly killed yourself trying to do the right thing. But when you’re better, we move on, and we do bigger and greater right things. Do I have your agreement?”

“No. I’m done,” John declared with finality.

Gabriel paused, his heart going into a freefall at the words. _I’m done…_ and he obviously didn’t mean he was dying. He meant he was done as leader of the party. Quitting.

He meant it, too.

“I’m sorry, John, still can’t understand you. Rest your throat, and I’ll...uh, the nurse should be here very soon. I’m going to check on the boys and call the doctor in for you. Be right back.”

He fled the room and went outside, where the new red-headed guard and his friend were keeping station on the porch. The street was nearly empty except for one lone photographer’s car, and the sun was just rising enough to show a streak of purple over the treetops.

“How’s he doing, sir?” Devereaux inquired.

“Don’t call me sir, please. I’m Gabriel, or Mr. Angel if you prefer. In about half an hour there will be a nurse and a medical technician arriving from Palisades hospital. Let them in once the doctor comes down and identifies them, not before.”

“Yes, sir...Mr. Angel. How is he?”

Gabriel wasn’t trying to be evasive by not telling them how John was; he actually didn’t hear the question at all amongst his racing thoughts. “Thank you. I’m going home, and I’ll be back at 7 to have breakfast with the boys.”

The guards nodded, and Gabe got into his car with a heavy heart.

——

**Insurrectionists HQ - later that morning**

“Cas, we gotta talk,” said Gabe gloomily as his colleague and friend entered the office an hour late, due to the unexpected arrival of John’s boys at his front door first thing in the morning.

“About what?”

“In your office? Thanks.”

Gabriel made himself a cup of coffee before going into the office and closing the door firmly behind him. Castiel was scowling and rifling through his briefcase, not looking up.

“Cas...I’m sorry for springing John’s boys on you this morning. I really am, and I should have given you more notice. But I must say, I’m really disappointed at the way you handled it and how rude you were to all of us. John chose you as their guardian for a reason. What the hell is going on with you lately?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cas said as he slammed his briefcase shut.

“I don’t care. Talk about it anyway, or I’m going to make John wring it out of you when he gets back. Or I will, right now. You’re being a total dick to everyone, and people are starting to talk.”

Castiel hung up his coat, then took a minute to dig out a file from somewhere deep within his closet.

“Fine. You asked for it. Here you go.”

He all but threw the file to Gabe, who took it with dismayed astonishment and started flipping through it with increasing alarm.

“What the... _where_ did you get this? Is this for real?”

“Appears to be. They came in the mail to my house just after the audit that uncovered them.”

Gabe felt sicker and sicker as he studied the six receipts for a third, and then a fourth time.

“Holy shit, Cas. He _did_ pay those fuckers off. Son of a bitch _._ Who sent these to you?”

“No idea. Came in regular mail, and the zip code it was sent from was our own. Somebody within our organization, probably.”

“And you haven’t done anything about it?”

Castiel walked over and snatched the papers back. “Obviously not!”

Gabriel wandered over to Castiel’s desk chair and collapsed into it. John was going to have a stroke over Cas hiding this development for so long, there was no doubt of it. “Fuck. What are you going to do?”

“Talk to him. I’ve been waiting until after the vote to do it, because we needed him focused on that. It gets worse. He allegedly offered Cole Trenton money for his help with passing his photography measure. Don’t ask me how I found out, because I’m not proud of it. And don’t even get me started on this infatuation with Lucifer. I’m about ten seconds away from quitting every time I think about how he let the Ruby investigation get buried just to win some bread points with the Opportunists.”

“It’s _brownie_ points, Cas. Shit. Well, he’s too sick to confront now. It would probably kill him to have an argument. You’ll have to wait.”

“I will. But if these are only little things I’m uncovering by chance, or by someone else exposing them, this could only be scratching the surface. Who knows what else he’s up to?”

Gabriel gaped at Castiel as if he was on fire. “Do you remember what happened in December when we assumed the same thing over one single call? We were completely wrong about all of it, and we nearly lost our jobs to boot. This is John we’re talking about. John _Winchester_. We’re godfathers to his children. Don’t paint him in some ridiculous, nefarious light. There’s going to be a good explanation, just like last time.”

“Right. And the explanation will be: _sorry guys, let me explain. I lied, and I really did pay them off_.”

“Jesus, Cas. Don’t get all high and mighty on me.  If he did this - which we don’t know for sure - he was desperately trying to protect his sons. Don’t you understand? And in the end, it’s truly just his problem, not ours. He’s going to be the one who has to dig himself out of this.”

“Except that he used Insurrectionists funds to do it, and the money was allocated from my department. So no, it’s not _just_ his problem. It’s now mine, too. So don’t tell me what to do, or how I should feel about being lied to!”

Castiel was all but over the conversation, but as they were in his office, there was nowhere to go. They were both silent for a minute after that statement, fuming and nearly ready to physically fight each other for the first time since they’d known each other. It took all of Gabriel’s willpower not to stomp out of the office, but something was holding him back from doing that.

Then he realized what was really bothering him. He had been completely wrong to blindly defend John in the face of such evidence, and in the presence of a man who stood to lose so much from it. He should have had Castiel’s back on this one, and he failed him completely.

Gabe’s voice was tight and full of emotion. “Cas…I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t mean to be flippant. I support you. Please forgive me. What’s your next step? Is there anything I can do for you right now?”

Castiel took a huge swig from one of the comically small water bottles he always kept in his trench coat pocket. “Thank you, and I accept your apology. Do you have a suggestion on how to proceed with some kind of investigation that we can keep hidden from John?”

“First we polygraph the entire accounting department and find out who made those payments. He was expecting that, anyway. And let’s hope he doesn’t come back too soon. We already poly’d Gadreel, so I’ll start with the other senior employees right away. This afternoon. With your permission, of course.”

Castiel looked at him sideways. “My what?”

“You’re the big boss man while John’s away. What say you?”

“Yes, proceed. You have my express authorization to do whatever you need to get it done quickly and efficiently.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes as he turned to leave the office. “Yes, sir, right away, sir.”

“Thank you.”

\-----------------------------------

Castiel didn’t get home until almost 9pm, and he and Rufus found the boys sitting on the couch half-asleep, with Lisa sitting nearby reading the newspaper. It was the evening edition, in which John’s illness was exaggerated and splashed all over the local section’s headlines.

“Did you have dinner?” Castiel asked all three of them at large, casting a wary eye on their guard, who got the message and subtly flipped the newspaper over on the table to hide its contents.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. How’s dad?”

“The same. Your bedtime is 9:30pm, so why don’t you get ready for that. Sorry I’m back so late. Without your dad at the office things can get a little hectic. Lisa, can I talk to you for a minute?”

The boys went back to their rooms, and Lisa and Castiel went into the kitchen.

“I haven’t even had time to ask about John today, or to even think about him,” Castiel admitted tiredly. “Have you heard anything?”

“Yes, I’m up to date as of about twenty minutes ago. High fever, very sleepy, can’t talk. Nothing has changed. Everyone else seems fine in the house, and they’ve sterilized it top to bottom a few times today.”

“Okay. Are Sam and Dean behaving?”

“Sam’s been a handful. I think his dad would have had a word with him about two hours ago for the way he was talking to me and his brother, but other than that everything’s fine.”

Castiel nodded. “Thanks. Are you staying here?”

“That’s up to you. I can if you want me to, and I wouldn’t mind staying away from the plague house.”

“That’s fine, take the bedroom next to mine. It has its own bathroom. Thanks for your help.”

Castiel started with his nightly routine of doing random things around the house and was about to wish the boys goodnight when he heard them arguing loudly. With a deep sigh he made his way upstairs with Angela close on his heels as the noise escalated while they argued about who could use the shower first. He was tired and didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t exactly blow it off and hope for the best.

“Boys,” he called calmly as he entered the bedroom they shared. “Come out here, please.”

The noise abruptly stopped. Angela jumped onto one of the beds and made herself comfortable while Dean emerged first from the bathroom, with Sam close behind him. Cas was used to having John’s sons argue around him (since they couldn’t do it in front of their dad), and he had learned from years of experience how to intimidate them into silence without having to resort to making threats. All he had to do was cross his arms and look down at them disapprovingly.

“What’s the solution to this problem?” he asked. Classic Castiel - straight to the point.

“There’s no problem, Uncle Cas,” Dean replied quickly. “We were just both trying to be first to use the bathroom.” Sam stayed silent, thankfully.

“Do I need to decide anything for you in regards to that, or can you work it out on your own?”

“Sam can go first, it’s no big deal. Everything’s fine, Uncle Cas.”

“Good. Proceed, then. My bedroom is right across the hall, as you know, and I prefer to sleep without being awakened by loud voices. Can I count on you to let me do that?”

They both nodded, eyes wide. Castiel’s tone was kind and friendly, and although the boys knew he would never lash out in anger or lay a hand on them, they wouldn’t disobey him now if someone offered them a million bucks to do it. Their father often privately bemoaned his inability to have the same effect on them, much to Castiel’s embarrassment.

“Okay, then. I’m going to bed. As you know, you’re not to leave this room for any reason until I open the door in the morning.” That was only because they would likely wake Angela up and incite a flurry of frantic barking. She was an excellent guard dog, if a bit overzealous. All of Castiel’s guards and regular visitors had gotten on his bad side at least once for making too much noise in the middle of the night and setting her off.

“Angela, come along. Off the bed. Good girl. Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight,” they said together. The bedroom door closed, and Dean turned and quietly but firmly shoved Sam to the floor.

“Bitch!” he hissed.

“Jerk!” Sam whispered back.

The door opened back up again and Castiel peeked in.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you...” he watched in dismay as Sam scrambled off the floor and back onto his feet. Dean cleared his throat, trying to get out some kind of reasonable explanation, but there was none. Anyone with eyes and a brain could gather what had just happened.

“Come here, Dean,” he said gravely, and Dean obediently followed Castiel into the hallway with a look of deep regret and shame on his face.

“You know what your father would do if he saw what I just saw, right?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sixteen years old, beating up on a twelve year old, in my house. That’s not acceptable, and your dad will be hearing about it when he’s recovered. Go apologize to Sam, and then go to bed. Clear?”

Dean nodded, eyes wide and wet. He hated disappointing people, especially Castiel, and this was the first time he had ever had a reason to rebuke him in this manner. It hurt, and it was embarrassing.

“Do you have to tell him?” he tried, hoping desperately for a reprieve.

“I’m not going to tell him. You are, when he asks you if you behaved yourself. What I was going to say earlier is that I forgot to tell you both that school will start late tomorrow because Mrs. Angel has an appointment. We’ll go out for breakfast at a restaurant, then take Angela to the dog park. Lisa will wake you guys up at 8.”

Dean wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and composed himself again. “Okay. That sounds nice.”

Castiel nodded, then reached out and patted a shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, but it felt more awkward than anything else. “See you in the morning. Goodnight.”

\-----------------------

By the end of day two, Gabe was starting to make himself crazy with the possibilities behind the receipts Castiel had received. He even started talking to himself to keep track of his thoughts and bullet points.

Guilty of not covering his tracks properly….

_That is so unlike you, John - the smartest man I’ve ever known. The most manipulative and careful man I’ve ever known. You’ve never missed a detail nor ever forgot them._

Which by itself alone argued for his innocence, because he wouldn’t be that dumb. But then again, John had offered said bribes to Opportunists photographers on live television, with his son and a very angry Castiel in tow.

 _Jesus, John. Maybe you really_ _are_ _that dumb. I mean, you did threaten Lucifer on live television. Twice._

Putting everyone’s careers on the line by using Insurrectionist Funds...

_He would never put Castiel’s career on the line. Or mine. Never. But then again, he did nearly fire us for taking phone calls on Christmas eve, and then publicly shamed us for it..._

The money was allocated from Castiel’s department….

_That could have been a mistake. Errors in coding happen all the time amongst the more inexperienced bookkeepers...but, those with access to the anonymous account were highly experienced._

Back to square one again: John is paying off bribes with company funds and leaving a trail behind that leads straight to him.

_...which would mean he’s all but lost his mind, and I’m not willing to accept that._

If John intended to make an illegal bribe, why would he not use private funds instead?

_...because personal banks do not allow anonymous ledger entries. It would have been too traceable._

And why the hell would he offer money to Cole Trenton to help pass that measure?

... _desperation. Needed to save your boys from the press. Dean’s panic attacks becoming more frequent._

Cole Trenton had worked for Lucifer once.

... _Yes. Cole Trenton worked for Lucifer once. Is that important? Is that a thing?_

No, they had a falling out. Lucifer hates Cole Trenton. They aren’t even on speaking terms.

_...but Cole Trenton is best friends with Uriel._

And Uriel hates John Winchester.

_Irrelevant. They’ve always hated each other, so why would Uriel start something now? And what would Cole Trenton have to gain?_

Who sent the receipts?

 _An inside man. We’ll never know, because we can’t ask that question during the_ _polygraph. It will expose John’s crime. Or...not crime..or….fuck it all._

Gabe threw down his notebook and called Castiel. “I’ve got nothing, Cas. I keep going in circles.”

“I’m coming over.”

Thirty seconds later they were face to face again.

“I have nothing, either,” Cas admitted. “If anything, I’m more convinced he did it. At least John is still too sick to come in, or do much at all. Let’s just hope he stays that way for another few days, or preferably until we can put him going off to Philadelphia next week.”

The men looked at each other, horrified that they were on the same wavelength and harboring such dark thoughts.

“I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay, Cas. I’ve been thinking the same: as long as he stays deathly ill, that gives us more time to save him. God help us...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the behavior of Cas and Gabriel towards John is disappointing in this chapter, and might even seem to be out of character. But please remember that in this AU, John is a constant source of stress and uncertainty for his best friends. They love him and respect him to the ends of the earth, but the trust factor isn’t always there. John is unpredictable, he’s gotten himself into trouble countless times because of his impulsiveness, and he can be a total dick to everyone around him. Not to mention, he’s bribed people before and broken laws. He is flawed. He has done some very dumb things despite being the smartest man everyone knows. 
> 
> Therefore...it’s not completely unreasonable for Gabe and/or Cas to think he’s guilty, but even if he is, they will ALWAYS do their best to protect him...even from himself, and even at the cost of their friendship. Even if they sometimes resent him for the stress he causes them. And that’s because they know his heart is pure and his intentions are good. He is, at his core, a very good man. They wouldn’t associate with him otherwise.
> 
> Long story short: don’t despair. Our boys still love John and will come to their senses sooner than you think.
> 
> Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk ;-)


	42. Understanding

**Saturday morning, March 4.**

**Castiel’s House**

\-------------------------

Castiel was not used to having a full table at breakfast in his house - usually he dined alone at all meals -  but he thought it was something he could probably get used to and enjoy. It wasn’t planned, either, and just kind of happened as more people showed up at the house all at the same time. The boys were there, of course, and Lisa, Rufus, Gabriel, and even Captain Devereaux, who had stopped by to follow up on a report that someone was climbing over the back fence of the property. There were clear indications of someone trying to do that, but the officers had concluded the attempt was unsuccessful.

Castiel had agreed to the boys’ request to fix breakfast, much to his current regret. Sam was busy making a colossal mess with the waffle iron, and Castiel had to almost physically hold himself back from trying to help him and prevent more mess. Sam had even spilled an entire carton of orange juice all over the floor in a moment of carelessness. As a neat freak, it had nearly pushed Castiel over the edge, but he kept quiet.

Dean, on the other hand, expertly cooked and served everyone oatmeal, sausage, and eggs, as well as pouring all the drinks and setting the table. He was obviously thoroughly enjoying himself and the company, and was happier than Cas had seen him all week.

As Sam slid a grossly deformed but perfectly cooked waffle in front of the very grateful police captain, Gabe finally put two and two together in regards to the man’s last name.

“Are you related to John’s new guard, by chance? He’s a Deveraux, too if I’m not mistaken.”

The captain reached for the syrup and smiled broadly. “My son. Thank god for John’s intervention on that one.”

Castiel cocked his head curiously. “Oh? Was he previously unemployed for some time?”

“No, not at all. Worked as a state police officer and was transferred to Shasta six months ago, against his will. Toby went with him - that’s his best friend since they were babies, practically - to make it more bearable. But it wasn’t enough. I casually mentioned to John they hated it up there, then went on my way and forgot we ever had the conversation.”

Gabe grunted. “Going from Los Angeles to Shasta County? What a grisly downgrade.”

“That’s why they can’t keep any Southern California boys up there on a long-term basis and have to force them into it. Only thing it’s got going for it is a big-ass lake that you can’t even fish in anymore because of the tree-hugging plagues of Opportunists.”

Castiel asked, “So John had them transferred back to LAPD?”

“No. Not even two hours after hearing how unhappy they were - didn’t even ask questions - he simply went out on the porch, sipping a beer,and asked them to join his own guards. Just like that. Offered a shit ton of money for ‘em, too, didn’t even try to bargain. The boys got back home a few days ago, pinching themselves daily and still not quite believing it all. Needless to say, their kids and wives are over the moon to have him home three days a week.” He looked at Dean and smiled. The teenager had sat down earlier to enjoy his own food but was now frozen still, fully enraptured by the tale he was hearing.

“He did that, sir?”

“He didn’t tell you? Guess I’m not surprised. Your dad is a pain in the ass more often than not, but he’s a good man. The best kind of man there is, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.” He turned his attention back to Gabe and Cas. “It pisses me off, all the shit headlines he’s been getting recently. Doesn’t deserve any of ‘em.”

“Language, please,” said Castiel gently, cocking his head subtly towards the boys.

“Right. Sorry.”

“We don’t give a fuck about bad words,” Sam piped up cheerfully from his station in the kitchen. Everyone at the table gasped, and then roared. Except Castiel, of course. He smiled thinly, then stood up and went into the kitchen while everyone else continued to laugh and make conversation.

“How’s it going over here, Sam? Making a mess, I see.”

“I’m trying not to, Uncle Cas. Kept putting too much batter in, but I think I’ve got it now.”

“Good. Remember that I told you there’s no swearing in my house. Don’t do it again, please.”

“You swear all the time in your house,” Sam replied cheekily, his grin indicating he meant no harm and had no intention of arguing any further. No, he was only basking in the attention from the crowd. The same type of positive and encouraging attention he didn’t get very often from his father.

Castiel gave in without a fight and reached way up into the cupboard to grab two more rolls of paper towels. “I guess you’re right. Clean this shit up when you’re done.”

“I will. This waffle iron is going to be a bitch to clean.”

“Let it cool down first, it’s hot as fuck right now.”

Sam giggled, and Castiel opened the fridge, deeply depressed about the story Captain Devereaux had just told. How he said he would fight anyone who didn’t consider John a good man.

The words were strikingly familiar; Castiel had once felt the same way. Just...not lately. And why not? He deeply admired John’s huge balls in standing against his own party, was constantly moved by his rousing speeches given to hostile crowds that were quickly won over, and had been touched by the countless other good and positive things John had done for his constituents and even his opponents. For his friends. For complete strangers, like Devereaux. Hell, the man had even ditched all his responsibilities in order to pursue Angela around the city for hours, even though his friendship with Cas had already come to a certain end.

Somehow, Cas had forgotten John’s true nature, and he suddenly hated himself for it. What’s worse, it was his own fault. He was still bitterly hung up on the ugly consequences of the Christmas Day fiasco, even though he should be thankful John didn’t fire him on the spot.

Even after Cas and Gabe had clearly proven they couldn’t be trusted, John trusted them again anyway - after a few weeks of tension and petty bickering, to be sure - but he eventually forgave and let them back in, because that’s the kind of man he was to his friends.

_And what kind of friend am I being to him right now?_

Cas continued to gather his thoughts while pretending to search for something in the fridge, then caught Gabriel’s eye as he grabbed the nearest bottle of what looked like root beer and sat back down. It was clear they were both thinking exactly the same thing.

 _We need to talk to him_ , Gabriel’s eyes said.

Castiel nodded, then turned his attention to his cold, mangled waffle.

“Are you really gonna put barbecue sauce on your waffle, Uncle Cas?” Sam asked in awe.

\----------

**Winchester House**

**Afternoon, same day**

“Hey, boss,” Gabriel said quietly as he entered John’s room with a bag of takeout from The Daily Grill. He hoped he could entice John to eat, but the odds seemed dismal; two other plates of uneaten food were already on the nightstand.

“Hey,” John replied sleepily. “You’re late. Can you close the curtains?”

“Sorry. Got caught in traffic.” That was a feeble joke; Gabe only lived four blocks away. He walked around the room shutting the blackout curtains, which were so effective even in the middle of the day that he had to follow John’s voice to make his way back to him.

“How are you doing?”

“Can’t talk much. Hot. Nauseated. Annoyed.”

“I’m sure. Stopped at your favorite place to grab you a chicken pot pie, despite my wife’s insistence that it was too much for you to handle right now. It appears she’s right. Again.”

“Thank you, but you need to call me when you’re going to be late, even if I am on my deathbed.”

Oh...that’s why he was annoyed.

“I apologize, John. Won’t happen again. And you’re hardly on your deathbed.”

“Feels like it. Can you get Cas on speakerphone now, please? I want to get this over with.”

Gabriel flipped open his phone and realized with a start that he was almost 40 minutes late. Shit, he’d really lost track of time. John was still his boss no matter what, and this was a business meeting - one that Gabe himself had requested, and that John had agreed to despite his illness.

“Doing it now. I’m sorry,” he repeated again, feeling like a complete dick as he dialed. The light from the phone enabled him to spot a chair in the corner, and he dragged it over next to the bed during the veritable eternity it took for Cas to pick up. Once he did, Gabriel carefully laid the phone next to John so they could both hear and speak into it.

“Hello Gabriel,” Cas said robotically. “May I assume John is on the line as well?”

“Present, Mr. Novak.”

Oh boy...John was in a mood now. This couldn’t be good. Gabriel braced himself, already feeling overly emotional in advance from the epic argument he thought was inevitable.

“Alright, Cas. Since you volunteered to go first, please tell him from the beginning what we called this meeting for.”

“Can’t wait,” John grumbled.

Castiel took a deep breath. “John, I know this is going to be very upsetting. Please stay calm and let us talk this through from all points of view. I recently received a packet in the mail that implicates you in a bribery scheme. It was a packet of what appear to be original receipts for six payments made to Opportunist photographers under your name.”

John started to sit up, which knocked the phone onto the floor and popped it shut. “What!”

Gabe put a firm hand on his shoulder as he reached down to fumble for his cell in the pitch dark. “John, please. Just listen. Lay down. We’ll explain everything. Try not to get agitated.”

“Easy for you to say!”

“None of this is easy for me!” Gabe snapped back harshly as he found the phone and re-dialed Cas as quickly as his trembling fingers could manage. It was the first time he could ever recall talking back to John in that manner, and it rattled him. He was relieved when Castiel picked up on the first ring.

“Sorry about that, Cas. Technical difficulty. Go ahead.”

Cas continued as if he had never stopped. “We’ve been investigating them for several days to determine where they came from and who forged them. So far we haven’t found the hard evidence we need to prove they’re fakes. Whoever did this was on the inside, since everything lines up with our accounting and the timeline of the payments down to the minute. There’s no external party who has access to that information. But no one in accounting has yet failed a polygraph test designed to figure out who made the payments. Do you have any idea of who might be behind this?”

John was probably white as a sheet, but it was too dark for Gabriel to see him. He made no response, but tensed up enough that the bed moved slightly.

“John?” Gabriel gently prodded.

“How long...when did you get this package?”

“Three weeks ago. I only told Gabriel on Wednesday, and we’ve been working frantically since then.”

 _Why the fuck did you wait?_  John wanted to ask, but he refrained because he already knew the very uncomfortable answer.

“Okay. And what have you discovered so far?”

“The payments were made by cashier’s check, likely bought in person. If we can determine where they were purchased, we might be able to obtain security footage and interview the person, or persons, who sold them. If we can confirm even one person who was paid with them, Michael can issue a subpoena for a deposition.”

“That’s a lot of ifs. And a subpoena requires an indictment first, Cas,” John said wearily. He was getting sleepy again, despite the shock of this news and the initial adrenaline rush.

“I believe Michael can authorize a special investigation to prevent that. You’ll have to ask him. Anyway, we have a handwriting professional coming in on Monday morning to analyze your signature versus those on the documents. We’re already a quarter of the way through polygraphing our accountants. Lastly, we want to pull phone records to determine what calls were made between Cole Trenton and Lucifer, and to see what evidence can be gathered from those.”

“Cole Trenton? Why?”

Gabe jumped in now, his heart pounding with a sick, deep thudding against his ribs. “He says you offered him money to help push your measure through the house.”

“For fuck’s sake. No, I did not.”

“Is there a recording of your call with him?” Gabe eventually asked, after a long silence from Cas.

“Calls, plural. We had about seven. No, because they were between our cell phones.”

Gabe felt like crying, he was that frustrated right now at John’s refusal to use his office phone for these calls so that could be recorded. They had had the argument countless times before.

Cas continued now. “Okay, well...then there’s no evidence, and Michael will have to let that go. In regards to the receipts, there’s no way to complete the investigation before you go to Philadelphia. We can’t finish polygraphing the entire accounting department that quickly.”

“And the tape?” John was rapidly losing his voice again, and the question came out as a whisper.

“Yes, regarding the tape we got from Lucifer. That’s next on my list to discuss. The voice analysis is due back Thursday, despite our rush job. They had quite a back-up at the lab we contract with, and no other lab is trustworthy enough to handle it because we didn’t have time to vet them.”

“Hmmm.”

“Have you spoken to Lucifer since we got it?”

“No. You know that.”

Another long silence. Gabe and Cas were intensely curious why John was so pissed off at Lucifer, especially considering the man had provided something to them for free that was incredibly valuable, but neither one of them had taken the precarious step towards asking John about it yet. He would tell them if and when he needed to.

“I’m really tired, guys. I need to go back to sleep. Proceed however you feel is best.”

Castiel paused. “Well, we would like to get your permission first to look into a few other possibilities. Today I was thinking of-”

“Not necessary. Do whatever you need to do.”

Cas should have liked that answer, but he didn’t. “Okay, are you just saying that because you’re sick and don’t have the energy to deal with this? Because that’s not like you, and I’m not comfortable having free rein like this. I want to make sure you-”

“Sounds like you’ve managed fine on your own so far. Why stop now?”

There was an ugly but understandable bitterness to that remark. John had clearly reached his wits’ end with today’s news. Gabe hadn’t forgotten his friend’s vow that he was “done” with his job. Even though Gabe had pretended not to hear him at the time, and it hadn’t come up again. But the memory of that remark upset him far more than he was comfortable admitting to himself.

“Thank you for your trust, John,” Gabe said once he recovered his own wits. “You have our word that we’re doing everything in our power to get to the bottom of this. We won’t stop until you’re completely cleared and all the questions are answered.”

“I already know the answer,” declared John tiredly. “Uriel is behind this.”

”Most likely,” murmured Gabriel.

“We have him on our list of possibilities,” Cas admitted. “But there’s no evidence yet.”

“There will be.” John replied. “His best friend is Cole Trenton, and you know I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“We’re exploring that angle. But it almost seems too obvious, don’t you think? Everyone knows you hate each other, and that he’s practically in Trenton’s back pocket. He would have to know he’d be the very first suspect. And why would he want to start something with you now, after all these years? There are others with much more to gain from your downfall.”

”Gabe and I know Uriel intimately. You don’t. This is all him, and he’s an impatient, arrogant bastard who will step on his own dick soon enough. That’s when the red flags will start flying left and right. Keep your eyes open. I’m going back to bed, so let’s end this for now.”

“He’s right about Uriel, Cas. I’ll come by your house in a few minutes,” said Gabe. He hung up the phone and turned to his best friend of ten years, feeling like the worst piece of shit on the planet.

“I’m sorry to have ambushed you with this while you’re so sick, but I had no choice. You need to talk to the FBI on Monday. Or maybe Tuesday, depending on the results of the signature analysis.”

“I forgive you for thinking I did it, Gabe,” John said quietly. Peacefully, even.

“What? I never thought that.”

“Don’t lie,” John murmured quietly. “I know you. I know the signs of guilt in your voice, in your eyes.”

“My eyes, huh? It’s pitch black in here, John.” Gabriel felt like crying, and his voice wavered with the guilt that John apparently knew so well. Damn it.

“Just admit it, it’s alright,” John added sleepily.

Gabriel cleared his throat roughly. “I really need to get going so I can keep working on this with Cas, but I’d like to come by again after church tomorrow if that’s okay. To see how you’re doing and give you an update on the boys.”

“Yes, please. I might ask you to heat up that pot pie for me, too.” The bed rustled as John shifted slightly, and Gabriel felt a burning hot palm rest on his forearm. “Whatever changed your mind, don’t let anything change it back. I may be an ornery, impulsive fucker sometimes, and intolerable the rest of the time...but I don’t lie to my friends.”

That was all it took for Gabe’s eyes to start leaking. “I know, John,” he managed to get out. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Go. See you tomorrow.”

John patted Gabe’s arm once, then slid his hand away and closed his eyes. Gabriel wiped his sleeve across his wet face, and reluctantly left his friend.

\------------------------------

“Goddamn, that was utterly agonizing,” complained Gabriel bitterly as he strolled through the front door of Castiel’s house and threw down his keys on the sideboard. “Would rather have had my-”

“Keep your voice down. Sam and Dean are having lunch in the dining room. Come to my study.”

They went in, and Castiel poured Gabriel a huge shot of bourbon without asking.

“He knows we thought he did it, Cas.”

“Yes. He handled it all fairly well, considering.”

Gabriel held out his glass for a refill of bourbon, but Castiel didn’t oblige.

“No, I need you to be clear-headed right now. I have a friend in Castaic who is a handwriting expert on the side. Trustworthy and discreet. Do you feel up for a road trip today?”

“On the side? What does that mean? He’s an amateur?”

Cas shook his head. “He was a professional, but retired to play in the ragtime band at Disneyland. The state still contracts with him on occasion for more difficult forgery cases.”

“Wow. That’s an odd mixture of skills. Hell of a commute, too.”

“Do you want to come with me, or not? I need to leave in about ten minutes.”

Gabe shook his head. “No. I want to stay near John in case he needs something. The boys can stay with me while you’re gone.”

“Thanks, but I’m taking them with me, and Rufus and Lisa. Rented a cabin at the lake for the afternoon so they can relax while I’m meeting with Asa nearby.”

“Oh. Does John know you’re taking them?”

“No. Probably wouldn’t care, since he hasn’t asked me about them even once in four days. It’s really odd. Bothers me.”

“He’s horribly sick, Cas,” Gabriel answered hotly. “And he trusts you to take care of them without interfering. Don’t worry about it.”

\----------------------------------


	43. It's Always Gloomy in Philadelphia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a week after the last chapter. John is not sick anymore YAY

**Friday, March 10 - Philadelphia**

**FBI Headquarters**

“Okay, John. There’s just something not quite lining up about this whole thing. Your explanation seems reasonable on the surface, but here’s the thing: I received copies of the same receipts and a letter describing what they were, along with a photo of the packet that was sent to Castiel. It exactly matches this one.” He tapped the yellow envelope unnecessarily.  “We launched an investigation immediately, and our conclusions are the exactly same as yours: the signatures cannot be confirmed either as genuine or fake, and the cashier checks are untraceable to a specific person without obtaining a warrant for the security footage from the location where they were purchased.”

John swallowed his surprise in a too-large gulp of coffee, which burned his mouth painfully. His eyes watered, and he had to cough a few times before responding.

“You knew about this already? For how long?”

Michael didn’t answer that. “The Treasury Department traced all six purchases to a notorious bail bonds complex in San Bernardino. We’ve not had much luck with them before because their security cameras aren’t the best quality, but we’re working on it.”

“Oh…”

“So my first question is, why didn’t you inform us of this alleged plot the moment you discovered it?”

“I told you. I learned of it on March 4, when I was pretty much on my deathbed and out of the office. There was no point informing you when I didn’t have enough information to hold a fruitful discussion. That was less than a week ago.”

“You should have told me immediately, regardless. To do otherwise invited suspicion. I brought you here to see if you can help us launch a special investigation, which will allow us to obtain the warrant we need without pressing formal charges. But I can’t do that at the moment.”

“Why not?” John asked, feeling the world spin a little, in both directions somehow.

“Because there’s a huge hole in your story that’s yet to be explained. We know that Castiel personally received the receipts at his house on February 13. So please don’t tell me again that you weren’t aware of them until March 4. On the surface, it looks like you held back investigating until after the March 1 vote in order to avoid negative publicity, which would have influenced your rallies.”

“As I said, I only learned about them on March 4,” John repeated hotly. “That is the truth. How do you know for sure that was the date he received them? Mail gets delayed all the time.”

“I’m not at liberty to say how, but it’s simply not up for debate,” Michael replied reluctantly. High-powered surveillance across the street had clearly captured Castiel quizzically studying the bright yellow packet as he took his mail inside his house the evening of February 13, but the mere existence of that camera was strictly FBI knowledge.

“Not at liberty, huh? Well, I might not be ‘at liberty’ at all if this isn’t figured out.”

“That’s what I’m here for. What happened to that packet between February 13 and March 4?”

John sat up straighter. “Was there anything illegal about us not informing you right away that we were investigating a possible forgery of an _internal_ financial document? In fact, did we have any obligation at all to inform you of their existence until we had reached a conclusion of _our own_ self-conducted investigation on _our own_ employees, including myself?”

Michael hesitated, then leaned back with a small sigh and shake of his head. “Technically, no.”

John picked up his coffee again. “Exactly. Let’s move on, then.”

“I’m the one controlling this conversation, John, and we’re staying on this topic for a minute. Since you claim you didn’t know of their existence until March 4, I have to conclude that Castiel himself - not you - held them back in order to wait for the March 1 vote to take place first. Possibly influenced and/or aided by Gabriel. If that’s the case, I need to know, because it will mitigate the circumstances and shift some of the blame away from you. Is that what happened?”

“Not even close.”

“Then what? I need to give the president an explanation of some kind. Preferably one that’s plausible, if you have one.”

John leaned forward and set his cup down hard, causing a bit of coffee to splash onto the desk.

“I’d like to ask my question again, just for clarification. Was there anything illegal about our confidential investigation, or lack thereof? I seem to recall that you confirmed there wasn’t, not even thirty seconds ago.”

”Technically? No. But if it was delayed specifically to influence the vote? Absolutely. Looking at a felony on that one.”

”Well, good luck trying to prove it.”

Michael stood up and shoved his chair back into the credenza in frustration. “I’ve had enough of this, John. I’m trying to help you, and you’re stonewalling me at every opportunity. Go back to Los Angeles, and report here again on Monday afternoon if you’ve come to your senses by then. If not, I’ll bring in Castiel and Gabriel instead to tell me _their_ side of the story.”

“They’re busy on Monday. Monthly birthday luncheon at the office. How’s Tuesday looking for you?”

Michael raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re being awfully cocky and defensive today. More so than usual. Are you sure that’s in your best interests?”

“Are you sure that continuing this conversation is in my best interests?”

“Yes, because you’re bluffing. I know you. You would never agree to let me summon Gabriel and Castiel here.”

“Do it,” muttered John as he reached over to pluck a kleenex out of the holder and wiped up the spilled coffee to buy a few seconds to think. His bravado was failing as he realized the line was behind him now; he had crossed it with that simple _do it._

Michael sat back down and watched him for a few moments. Quietly he said, “John. I like you. I trust you. And you _know_ that has always been true, despite our conflicts. Why don’t you just tell me what’s really going on in your head right now? If you don’t, I’m going to have to transfer this case to someone else, because it appears my days of getting through to you are over. That’s not a threat. If I fail to do my job and get enough information from you, an entire month of my time will have been wasted on trying to figure out how to exonerate you. I think I can guarantee that the next person who steps into this mess won’t be nearly as enthusiastic.”

 _Oh shit,_ thought John.

Michael continued, “I’m not judging you for being defensive and angry. I’m not concluding you did anything wrong, or right, or whatever. But your behavior towards me - the _only_ person in the position to help you right now - is indefensible, and I won’t put up with it for one more minute. Tell me how you want to proceed. It’s your choice.”

Silence.

Michael flopped his notebook shut after a minute of waiting in vain for John to speak again. “Alright. I’ll summon Gabriel and Castiel, then. You can go.”

“No. Leave them out of it,” John said finally, giving up the bluff. “Castiel held on to the receipts because he was afraid to confront me. Avoiding bad PR never even occurred to him, because his mind doesn’t work that way. If they had gone to Gabriel first, it’s possible _he_ would have held them back for that reason. Likely, even. But not Cas, and I would gladly bet my own life and career on that.”

”What changed his mind about telling you?”

”Don’t know. I never asked.”

“It’s good he revealed them when he did. We were waiting to see what you would do, and I was getting nervous. If he had destroyed them, or hid them from-”

“He would’ve  _never_ done that!” John retorted fiercely. “Even to imply it, or think that for one second, is, is-”

”I believe you. Calm down.”

Michael opened his notebook back up again and wrote for some time, then closed it one last time.

“Thank you for your honesty, however belated. Even if you aren’t convicted of bribery, it’s possible Castiel could be publicly censured.”

John’s temper flared to new heights. “There is nothing illegal about what he did. You said so yourself!”

“A broken law isn’t a requirement for censure. Poor judgment is usually enough, and I can hardly think of a more worthy example than that. At any rate, at least this makes me feel comfortable to launch a special investigation and get that warrant, which I’ll proceed with on Monday.”

“Okay. Well...thank you?”

“Don’t thank me. I hate this as much as you do.”

He looked over John’s shoulder as his secretary caught his attention through the glass.

“Come in.”

“Sorry to interrupt. The president is asking to see both of you in five minutes.”

“Thank you.”

The door closed, and John raised his eyebrows. “May I ask what _this_ is going to be about?”

“Yes, we should have discussed it already but this thing with the receipts has taken all our time. Prepare yourself, John. It’s highly likely that President Henrikson is going to invalidate the passing of your upcoming measure.”

“What! Why?”

“Walk with me, it’s going to take a minute to get to the conference room.” As they were hurrying down a long, empty hall, Michael said in a low voice, “The rumor about you offering to bribe Trenton is running rampant, and he wants to talk about formally investigating in order to avoid accusations and bad PR. It’s inevitable that the charges will be dropped due to lack of recordings, but the measure will get put back at the end of the line to go through the house again...probably to be put on the July or August voting docket.”

John’s anger resurfaced instantly, and he stopped in his tracks. “Are you serious? Not acceptable. There is zero evidence. I refuse to meet with him until these ‘ _charges’_ are dropped.”

Michael gaped at him. “But you haven’t even been charged yet, and you might not be if the president approves to drop it. That’s what this conversation is about, and you’re lucky to get an audience with him at all.”

“No. I won’t be any part of it. Let me know when you’re all done jerking me around.”

“You can’t just refuse to talk to the president. Come on.”

“Oh, really? Let me show you how it’s done.”

John turned on his heel and made a beeline towards the back exit that led to his waiting car.

Michael quickly caught up to him. “Stop being an idiot, John. Seriously, this is a huge mistake.”

John kept walking, and Michael followed in silence for the two minutes it took to traverse the hallway. When they reached the little lobby, Michael snapped his fingers at the security desk, and the exit instantly locked itself with a resonating  _clang._  John tried pushing it anyway, in vain, then stood there and just shook his head.

“You can’t be serious,” he grumbled under his breath as two guards came up to the men and kept a respectful but cautious distance.

Michael was completely done with John’s attitude, but he forced his tone to stay calm and gentle. “You can either come with me to talk to the president now, or we can formally indict you on bribery charges and have you held in Philadelphia until the investigation is completed. Your choice.”

John laughed humorlessly. “Oh, I see. So I guess this means you’re no longer on my side?” he challenged.

“Stop being so dramatic. If I _wasn’t_ on your side, I would just let you leave.”

John looked out at his waiting car and did a double take. Benny had pulled up too hastily upon sight of him and accidentally jumped a good portion of the sidewalk with both right tires. John made a mental note to tease him for it later. Right now, there was nothing more he wanted than to dive in the backseat and speed off to the airport, back to the relative safety of his new house. But... _fuck it all._

“Unlock the door,” said John wearily.

Michael turned to the security desk and nodded, and the door unhitched itself with a mechanical jerk. John strode up to the car and leaned into the open window.

“Don’t quit your day job to become a valet.”

“Sorry, boss. These streets are crazy narrow.”

“Yeah. I just got called into another meeting. Need you to go back and wait a little longer, unfortunately.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks. See you in a bit. Stay off the sidewalk.”

He went back in, turned to Michael and began walking again, his former good humor partially restoring itself along the way.

“Nice trick,” he remarked coolly. “I deserved that. Sorry for being a dick.”

“Well, desperate times and all that. I’m sorry for threatening you. You know I don’t want any of this to go south, so...”

John cleared his throat. “Yeah. Thanks. It’s too bad you’re my FBI handler. I think we could have been good friends in another life. You remind me so much of Castiel sometimes.”

Michael laughed. “Having met Castiel on one of his more awkward days, I’m not sure that’s much of a compliment. But thank you.”

“It’s the highest compliment, I assure you. He does infuriate me to the core sometimes, but you can probably guess who’s fault that is. Anyway, what would you suggest I say to president Henrikson regarding this whole thing?”

“Nothing much. Just listen, agree to do what he says, and scoot the hell out while you have the chance. He’s been in a mood lately. At least take solace in the fact that you’re not the only person he’s pissed off at today.”

“Oh. Good. I think.”


	44. Darkness Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continues directly from previous chapter, no time leap.

**...CONTINUED**

**FBI Headquarters, Philadelphia**

Friday, March 10

John wasn’t allowed into the conference room upon arrival; the president wanted to speak with Michael first. John was obligated to wait a respectful distance away, and was not permitted to take out his phone. That gave him plenty of time to observe Henrikson’s dozen-strong security detail, which was remarkable for the fact that nearly all of them were female.

John suddenly regretted having all male servants and guards for so long, because Lisa had been an outstanding (and overdue) addition to the household, with unique strengths that the men never had developed. Like a maternal instinct, for example. That’s why she was usually assigned to guard his sons. For the first time, he wondered what it must be like for her to live amongst 17 men and two boys...even the dogs were male. Most of the guards only lived at the house four days a week (the servants were 5 days), but Lisa was one of three who lived there full-time (along with Benny and Garth). He made a mental note to check and make sure all of her needs were being taken care of, as far as her accommodations and-

John dismissed this train of thought abruptly as Bela Talbot suddenly strode into the anteroom carrying a binder that was much too small for the amount of contents it contained. John recognized it instantly as being Michael’s file on him; Bela must have stopped into his office to grab it in the way here. She darted into the conference room without a glance at anyone, and all was quiet again.

So quiet that John imagined he could hear his heart pounding and blood rushing. Or maybe he _wasn’t_ imagining it.

————

**Insurrectionists Headquarters**

**Castiel’s Office**

“What do you think is happening now?” Gabriel asked for a second time as he sat across the table from Castiel, who was busy being ridiculously picky about editing the long-delayed media statement to address the March 1 vote.

“I don’t know. How could I _possibly_ know?”

“I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“And I’m just trying to work,” Cas replied, a telling edge to his tone that indicated he was under more stress than usual. “Which is exactly what you should be doing, too. How’s it coming with that list?”

“It’s coming.” Gabriel sighed as he looked at his written notes. John requested a comprehensive list of all the headlines pertaining to him that he had missed during his illness, and Gabriel had to write them out by hand because he had spilled orange juice all over his laptop yesterday and was still waiting for a replacement. He threw the pen down and massaged the painful muscle between his thumb and index finger. _Feels like I’m in school again_ , he grumbled to himself.

“Sorry, what was that?” Castiel asked without taking his eyes off his own task.

“Nothing.”

“Let me see the list.”

Gabriel took a deep breath and gave him the notebook, swallowing his resentment for the hundredth time in ten days. He really didn’t like Castiel lording it over him like this. As usual, not having John around for so long drastically altered the dynamics between the longtime friends, to the point where Gabe always felt like nothing he did would be ever good enough for Castiel. Like a little kid constantly trying to please his father. _Like Dean_.

Castiel put the list down, frowning. “This is taking too long. He wants it done before he leaves Philadelphia, so he can review it on the plane.”

“I know, Cas. You do recall that he only asked me two days ago, right? I still have dozens of papers to go through, and then I have to type up this damned thing.”

Castiel grunted. “I’ll start typing it up to save time. You keep reviewing the papers. Three hours. Not a minute longer.”

“I _know,_ for fuck’s sake!”

That got Castiel to finally look up, but he said nothing. He didn’t have to; they both knew from past experience that John would nail Gabe to the wall if he disrespected Cas’ authority in his absence. Like he was doing now.

“Right," Gabe said as cheerfully as he could manage. "Three hours. Got it.”

Castiel nodded as he moved over to his computer, taking Gabe’s notebook with him.

“Cas?” said Gabe quietly a moment later as he hovered at the door. “I’m really worried about John. That’s all. Sorry I’ve been a pain.”

Castiel picked up his fourth cup of espresso and peered over the monitor. “John can handle himself. Can you?”

—————

**FBI HQ - Philadelphia**

John Winchester was not handling himself well. The president was in a snippy, take-no-prisoners mood, and John was all but rising to every provocation that had come up since he walked in the door after waiting almost two hours like a schoolboy waiting to see the principal.

First to irritate him was the insistence from the president on addressing him as _Mr. Winchester_. He was no longer simply John, because he was in trouble and it had to be keep being emphasized for some reason, in case he missed it. He did not; Henrikson made his feelings on the matters quite clear.

Apparently Michael and Bela had just laid everything out on the table that was going on with John and the Insurrectionists, and now it was time for the reckoning.

So that meant that secondly, John was entirely unappreciative of being ambushed by three people at once, and he made his feelings known. So did the president, who had similar feelings.

“You want to talk about being ambushed? How about me having to sit here today listening to 90 minutes’ worth of bullshit going in your party. Rather, in one of this _nation’s_ political parties. You think it’s all about you!”

“Which particular instance of bullshit are you referring to?” John fired back.

“You haven’t talked to Lucifer in several weeks, against our express instructions, is that correct?“

“Yes. He tried to-”

“Don’t care,” snapped the president. “Get it together, you’re not children. And what’s this about Castiel holding back knowledge of a bribery scheme-”

John bristled. “ _Forgery_ scheme.”

“Alleged forgery scheme, then, which conveniently he only informed you about after the March 1 vote? I have a mind to completely invalidate that day’s measures, but I won’t go that far since I think they’re for the good of the nation.”

“I see. Glad you agree that flaying the skin off human beings in front of children and women is probably a bad thing.”

“Among other things, including your attitude. You’re on dangerous ground, Mr. Winchester. I expect you to address me respectfully from this point on.”

Michael and Bela were frozen in place, faces white. Apparently they did not see the president in this mood very often, and it was for damned certain they never saw anyone talk to him like that before. John picked up his water bottle and took an enormous gulp, then capped it again and set it down hard.

“With all due _respect_ I find it interesting, sir, that you added the word _alleged_ before the words _forgery scheme_ , but you did not add it before _bribery scheme_. Do we not practice ‘innocent until proven guilty’ in this country anymore? You’re the president, you know best, and I would be grateful if you could condescend to educate me on that point.”

John got kicked out of the conference room for that comeback - discussion over - and was now sitting alone in Michael’s office again. He was running an hour late to catch his plane, and thought of poor Benny, who must be bored to tears waiting for him in the lobby with absolutely nothing to do.

When Michael returned, John was shocked to see him in a state of open amusement.

“Holy shit, John. How the hell do you walk around with balls that big? I’m truly intrigued....please condescend to educate me on that point.”

“Anti-chafing powder is a must. Buy it in bulk.”

“Noted.”

Despite his joking, John was more anxious than he had ever been in his life, save for Dean and Sam going missing once for two hours. He knew he had gone too far with Henrikson once again, and had been busy imagining all sorts of dire consequences in his head while waiting for Michael to return.

“So? Am I fired, arrested, or what? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Michael smiled a little. “None of the above. You made your point, and the president has agreed to drop the matter regarding Cole Trenton.”

“Oh.” Shit, that was unexpected. “But not the receipts, I take it?”

Now Michael was serious again. “No. In fact…” He opened his binder and pulled out six printed sheets. “Sorry to inform you that you’re now under official investigation for that. We need your statement on all of these outstanding items in my file. A number of questionable items are being examined, some of which-”

“This is ridiculous,” John said tightly.

“Let me finish. Your written explanation, in as many words as necessary, due in 14 days. In person. The president feels this is more… _suited to your temperament_ , he said, to give you the opportunity to offer your thoughts in writing.”

“What?” John numbly reached out for the papers, but Michael didn’t hand them over.

“No, I need to rephrase and clarify some of these items. Maybe add a few. They’ll go out Fed-Ex tomorrow, to reach you Monday.”

“What kind of questions?”

Michael looked at the first paper. “One of them is in regards to Castiel’s motivations for holding back the receipts.”

“I already told you.”

“The second one...and these are not in chronological order, by the way...is in regards to calls you made to an unlisted Colorado mobile number on December. Things like that. Some of these are probably trivial.”

John felt like he was going to have a heart attack. “Trivial? To whom?”

Michael sat back in his chair, looking regretful. “Sorry. That was the wrong word. What I meant is that some of them are completely unrelated to the _alleged_ forgery scheme _._ The president wants a full picture of all your activities since right before Ruby’s murder. You can’t deny that a lot of shit has been going down since then. Mystery calls, blackmail attempts, etc. It’s all very suspicious to him. Not to me, so much. Political shenanigans like this have been going on since the rise of mankind. But he’s the boss, and we have to answer these questions for him.”

John set his jaw and did not waver. “I told you. I’m being framed.”

“And I heard you, but John...you have to prove it to me. Or at least give me something to go on. Someone to point the finger at. This is your chance. I’m working on it too, you know. Still trying to track down these cashier’s checks to see who bought them. That could crack open everything. Trying to save you is becoming my full time job.”

John’s blood froze. _Trying to save you. Which means...I need saving. Which means...I’m in danger. From what?_

Michael sighed and closed his binder and put the papers away. “There’s one last thing. Your daily calls with Lucifer must resume on Monday. Absolutely no excuses. If you fail to comply, you’ll get your third warning. The final warning is after that, and you know what that means.”

When John was able to speak again, it sounded to his own ears that his voice was 100 feet away from his mouth. “What you said earlier...that you’re trying to ‘save me.’ Did you mean that literally?”

Michael cleared his throat. “Literally? What do you mean?”

John knew then. Michael was holding back. It was there in his eyes, clear as day. They had something else on him. Something darker than he could presently imagine. There was no doubt. That explained the wiretapping, among other things. _What the fuck..._

“John? You okay?”

“Quick question. Were you guys wiretapping my old house?”

Michael looked startled for half a second, but then his guard instantly went up again. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“You were. I _know_ you were. I heard it. That’s why I disconnected the lines. Why did you do it?”

“ _John_.”

John felt horribly sick and dizzy all of a sudden, like the flu was starting all over again. But maybe this was the tail end of it; after all, he still had a slight fever only yesterday.

“I need to go home. Haven’t seen my boys in ten days.”

“Okay, we’re done now. I’ll see you on March...seriously, are you alright? You’re white as a sheet.” He reached into his refrigerator and grabbed another bottle of water. By the time he turned back around, John was passed out on the floor.

\-----------

When John came to, he was surrounded by Benny and two female medics. Michael was nowhere in sight.

“Sorry,” John said thickly. His pulse was rushing in his ears, and his tongue felt three times as big in his mouth. It was a disgustingly sickening sensation. “Overtaxed...been sick. I’m alright.”

“If you can sit up, sir, try it very slowly,” said one of the medics.

“Yeah, I’m good. I got this.”

John sat up and was treated to the sight of the office spinning in circles around him. The medics took his medical history and some vitals, and some kind of heart test, and determined he was going to be fine. John quickly recovered and Michael reluctantly gave up his attempt to get an ambulance to transport him to the hospital. John was over two hours late for his flight home. The boys would be very annoyed by the delay, that was for sure. Probably Castiel, too. He had to be sick of their bickering after ten days.

\--------------

**Insurrectionist HQ - Los Angeles - 2pm**

Castiel was grateful for the delay in John’s return, because three hours had not been enough to complete the task. But five hours had.  Gabriel walked into his office to hand the rest of the list over, and then thanked his friend for typing everything out.

“No problem. Let me send this to John while you’re here. Don’t go. Close the door, please.”

Within five minutes Cas had typed out the rest of the list (Gabriel was always in awe of how fast his typing was; the fingers were nearly a blur) and emailed it to John. Then he closed his laptop with a decisive snap and looked over to where Gabriel was sitting stiffly on the couch.

“I got a call from John,” he said. “He’s in the air by now. Will be home before 9.

“Did he say how the meeting went?”

“No, nothing. Which means-”

“-he got a serious beatdown from Michael,” Gabriel finished for him. “Or Bela.”

“Or the president.”

“Or all three of them.”

Castiel then did something incredibly out of character, and nearly unbelievable. Something that left Gabriel’s jaw metaphorically on the floor for a good amount of time.

Cas decided to leave the office early. It almost defied reality.

“Wait, what? Cas? Is that you? I’m hearing things. I’m in the Twilight Zone. Who _are_ you?”

Castiel went to his closet and took his coat off the hanger. “I’m someone badly in need of a break. And so are you. You’re leaving, too.”

Gabriel stared at him. “I can’t. I have a thousand things to do. At least.”

“Not anymore. I’m the boss for three more hours, and I say we’re done for the day. Let’s go.”

So they went. Castiel chose Gabe’s favorite bar at the end of Santa Monica pier, where they drank themselves silly and ate junk food until homeschool ended. Then they staggered back to their respective homes, accompanied by their bemused guards, to sort out the kids and return to real life.

\-------------------------------------

**Santa Monica Airport - 7:30pm**

“Hey, Cas. I’m so sorry I’m late. Just touched down. I’ll be there by eight.”

“No problem. The boys are eagerly waiting for you.”

“My house, or yours?”

“Yours.”

“Okay, thanks. You okay?” John asked in concern. “You sound a little...were you asleep?”

“Yes, I am,” Castiel admitted. “I was, rather. Went to happy hour with Gabriel. Knocked me out.”

John felt himself grinning. He liked it when Castiel loosened up, which was an increasingly rare occurrence. “That’s great, Cas. Good. Glad you made time to go have some fun.”

“I have a confession, John. Our particular happy hour commenced at 2:30pm.”

“Oh, shit. Drinking on the job, huh? That’s new.”

“We went to the pier. I’m sorry. It was irresponsible and I take full blame for it.”

Again, John grinned. “You don’t always have to tell me _everything_ , Cas. I wouldn’t have asked. As long as you had a good time. I know it’s been a difficult week. I’m only mad that I wasn’t there to enjoy it with you. Anyway, thanks for the list of headlines. It wasn’t as bad as I feared, especially the more recent ones. Looks like people are starting to calm the fuck down about the flogging initiative and focusing on other things. Like how much I’m leaving you in my will after I  die of the plague.”

Castiel found himself shuddering at the thought. “Did you see the one that diagnosed you with bi-polar disorder? Or yellow fever?”

“Yeah. Surprised there aren’t rumors out there that I’m pregnant. Goddamned paparazzi. Anyway, thanks again.”

“Please thank Gabriel, not me. He did all of the work on that, and my only contribution was to email it to you.”

“I will. Thanks. See you in a bit.”

“See you soon.”

Castiel set down the phone, and then turned around to find Dean watching him with a wide smile. “Ha, I knew it! You were way too happy when you got home to be sober. Sam owes me ten bucks.”


	45. Shit, Meet Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows previous chapter. John just got home from the airport.
> 
> For those of you who are already stressed out about this story? I'm sorry. You might want to go sit down before reading this chapter.

* * *

**Winchester House**

**Same evening**

John exhausted himself into apathy on the flight home with all the thinking and worrying. By the time they were over Utah, he didn’t care about his career, didn’t care about the Insurrectionists, didn’t care about the president. Nothing mattered for the time being, and it was refreshing to just focus on getting in bed and sleeping through the weekend. He was even seriously thinking of bailing on church for the second Sunday in a row, even though it would give the media (and his executives) a collective stroke.

The boys greeted him somberly at the front door, and John instantly picked up on their complete lack of enthusiasm at the sight of him. It hurt a little. A lot, if he was going to be totally honest with himself. He always suspected they liked their Uncle Cas better than him.

“Oh my god, dad,” blurted Sam fearfully as he backed away. “You look so skinny.”

Castiel’s eyes were almost as wide as Sam’s. “Good to see you, John.”

“Good to be back. Bit of a day.”

“Did you bring us any pretzels, dad?” Dean asked brightly - perhaps a little _too_ brightly - after an awkward silence from the group.

“Of course. Have I ever come back empty-handed from Philly? In my grey bag. We kept them in the warmer on the plane this time, so they should still be fresh. I brought you some other goodies, too. Go look.”

The boys lit up and finally stepped forward to greet him with silent hugs that lacked power - as if they were afraid to break him - but it was better than nothing. When they darted off to scramble through John’s luggage he took the opportunity to go in the kitchen and grab a root beer for himself, and a ginger ale for Cas.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” Castiel asked gingerly, quietly.

“About a minute is all I have left in me. My study.”

\--

John shut the door, then flopped down on his couch and stretched. “Do I really look _that_ bad?”

“Yes, you do. What happened today?”

He wasn’t about to tell Cas he had face-planted in Michael’s office, so he kept his tone light. “I got myself into a bit of trouble again, but I don’t want to talk about it until Monday. It can keep. How were the boys? Did they act up? God, I was so sick. Thank you for taking such great care of them. I don’t even think I even asked you once how they were doing.”

“No, you didn’t, because you know I would have told you if anything was wrong. We had some minor problems, but they were instructed to tell you personally. I’d rather not roll them under the bus.”

“ _Throw_ , Cas. Not roll. It’s better if you tell me, so I can hear it from multiple points of view.”

Castiel leaned against the desk. He couldn’t take his eyes off John. He looked like a different person. Leaner, darker, wearier. Dangerous. It was frightening.

“How much weight did you lose?” he asked worriedly.

“C _as_. Don’t change the subject. I want to know if the boys behaved. If you don’t prepare me, Dean is going to take the blame for everything Sam did, and Sam will let him. If you want to be their guardian, this is the kind of shit you have to deal with. What if something happens to me tomorrow and they get turned over to you-”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Castiel interrupted hastily, a little too urgently. John was a little startled by the harshness and immediacy of of his tone, and the two men stared at each other for a long moment.

_If only you knew that for sure. Because I don’t._

Castiel cleared his throat. “Alright, fine. A few days ago they were arguing over the bathroom, and Dean shoved Sam to the floor. There were three times Sam talked back to Lisa, and the third time I had to step in and send him to his room. He apologized to her and didn’t do it again. That was all. They’re good kids, John, and smart. Gabriel says they’ve never once misbehaved in homeschool, and all their work is done in time and thoroughly. So...maybe go easy on them?”

Too late. John’s anger had already flared at the imagery of Dean manhandling his little brother, and he had no intention of going easy on him for it. But he stayed calm and collected so that Cas wouldn’t feel guilty for spilling the beans.

“Thanks for the recap. Listen...I’ve been thinking. Are you prepared to take care of these kids if something does happen to me? And don’t say it won’t, because we don’t know. You’re their legal guardian upon my death, but I can transfer that power to Gabriel, if you have any hesitation whatsoever after having just spent ten days with them. And I know there’s more you aren’t telling me, but that’s fine. As long as it was nothing major.”

Castiel looked alarmed for a flash of a second, then breathed deep and cocked his head. “What happened in Philadelphia?” he asked gently.

John ignored the question. “So let me know how you feel. I want to be sure all my paperwork is in order before my next trip. Okay?”

“When’s your next trip?”

“Two weeks.”

Castiel didn’t blink. “I have to be honest, John. The fact that you’re asking me this right now, just after your return from ‘getting in trouble in Philadelphia’ is really scaring the hell out of me.”

“No need, it’s unrelated. We just had a really rough flight home, and I was thinking about morbid things like planes crashing and having a stroke from the stress of dealing with all this bullshit. I mean, you read those headlines. It’s a miracle I haven’t jumped off a bridge already. Look, Cas, I promise to tell you about Philadelphia on Monday. Every bit of it, in excruciating detail, okay? I’m too tired right now. Thanks so much for everything.”

“Alright. I should get going, then. Goodnight.”

Castiel encountered Benny in the driveway as he walked back to his waiting car. They solemnly shook hands, and Castiel decided to test out a theory. Something his instinct had just triggered.

“How was your flight? Looked like it might be rough, with all the storms everywhere.”

“Smooth sailing. Hardly a bump, fortunately. You know how much I hate flying.”

 _Rough flight, eh? God damn it, John..._ “I’m glad to hear it. See you Sunday morning.”

Cas could hardly sleep that night. It was the first time in memory that he had caught John in an outright lie, and the realization stunned and frightened him. He wasn’t ready to be a father to Dean and Sam, and he would never be ready to accept that John wasn’t going to be around forever. But something about John’s manner told him he might have to start preparing to face both possibilities.

\-------

**Saturday morning**

**Winchester House**

Dean had made the most luxurious breakfast John had ever seen outside a fancy hotel, and it almost seemed a waste that only the three of them would be able to enjoy it. But alas, Benny was asleep, Lisa was at the dentist, and Garth was just too weird for table conversation. The other guards were all either on duty or about to head to the gun range.

“Boys,” he said between bites of omelet, “I understand from Cas that there were a few disciplinary problems this past week. I trust that you will learn from whatever happened and not repeat it again. Is there anything major I should know about?”

Sam and Dean lowered their forks and stared at their dad. Dean spoke up once he had swallowed his huge mouthful of eggs. “Uncle Cas didn’t tell you what I did?”

“Why don’t _you_ tell me?”

Dean swallowed hard. “Sam and I were fighting over the bathroom, and I shoved him to the ground to get in first.”

“That’s not what happened!” Sam put in. “Cas came to yell at us-”

“Yell?” interrupted John, shocked.

Dean set his fork down and got all dramatic, as he was prone to do when retelling a story. “He didn’t yell! He was literally like (Dean pitched his voice down as low as it could go) _hey hey kiddos, what’s the solution to this problem_ and we agreed to stop arguing. Don’t exaggerate, Sam.”

“You’re exaggerating, not me,” refuted Sam. “There was no fighting, dad. Dean just likes to get us in trouble.”

“No, I don’t,” Dean replied in confusion.

“If you didn’t you wouldn’t have told him-”

John knocked on the table. “ _Boys_. Enough. I’m sorry I asked. Dean, we’ll chat later.”

Dean nodded and squirmed in his chair. “It wasn’t-”

”I said later.”

Dean wrung his hands together a little in his anxiety. ”Okay, sorry.”

“Mr. Winchester?” called Rufus quietly from the living room. “Mr. Novak is here to see you.”

“Tell him to come join us for breakfast. Got quite a setup here.”

Castiel came in and talked to Rufus for a minute before joining the family. “I didn’t mean to barge in on breakfast. I actually came to see if I could go the shooting range with your guards.”

The boys instantly perked up at that, and looked at each other with shining eyes. Castiel’s talent on the range was legendary, and the boys were eager to see him in action after so many years of hearing about it. It was part of the reason they were so intimidated by him, because his outward personality offered no hint as to the lethal shooting machine that lay inside. Even John’s well-honed accuracy couldn’t hold a candle to Castiel’s incredible eye.

“Of course you can go,” John answered. “You know you’re always welcome. Want to eat first?”

Castiel hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “Can I talk to you for a moment, please? In private.”

John hated leaving his omelet to get cold, but Cas would obviously not bother him unless absolutely necessary, which meant something was wrong. His skin prickled uncomfortably as he followed Cas to the study.

“What’s up?”

Castiel pulled the Saturday morning newspaper out of his pocket, and John took it wordlessly. The first page of the Politics section headline read:

_Opportunists Hacked, Insurrectionists Blamed_

“What the fuck is this?” John exclaimed, even as he started reading the story. Written by Meg, of course. Who else?

Castiel sounded exhausted. “Long story short, John...Lucifer’s executive team had all of their personal information released in some kind of information dump that was sent out on a listserv last night. Phone numbers, addresses, payroll, financials, bank account numbers. Everything. All twenty of them. It’s been sent everywhere, no taking it back.”

John kept reading, and his heart stopped on this part: _...an anonymous insider claims this is a retaliatory measure perpetrated by John Winchester, controversial leader of the Insurrectionists, who is no longer on speaking terms with Lucifer for unknown reasons. As Mr. Winchester was in Philadelphia on Friday and departed hours later than scheduled, it is assumed he or someone in his party has been placed under investigation for this latest political calamity. He is well known to employ double agents within the organization, and this is not the first time confidential information has been released to unauthorized parties. In October of 1989-_

“Cas,” John said shakily as he folded the paper back up. “This is exactly why I was asking you about guardianship of the boys.”

Castiel looked astonished. “You _knew_ about this?”

“No, but I knew something big was coming. Something like this. Michael...the way he was acting. _Fuck_. We need to talk. Now. Not here.”

John quickly packed up his briefcase and went back out to the dining room.

“Rufus. Boys.”

“Yaeghda?” Sam answered with a mouthful of chocolate milk.

“Go easy on that milk, Sam, it’s a lot of sugar. Change of plans. I have to go to the office for a few hours, so the guards will take you to the range with them. Sit in the waiting room while they shoot, and do _not_ bother them or ask to touch any guns. I swear to god if either of you misbehave, I’m taking my belt to you _both_ when I get back, no questions asked. Understood?”

The boys nodded, faces white, and John left with Castiel after throwing on a heavy coat.

Dean watched the huge SUV pulling out of the driveway, which was immediately and closely tailed by all the press cars that had been rapidly accumulating within the past hour. Then he began having another panic attack.


	46. Gathering No Moss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows previous chapter.

**Insurrectionist HQ**

**Saturday, March 11**

After two hours at the office talking in circles with Castiel and Gabriel and getting absolutely nowhere, John made an executive decision that the other two men strongly opposed: he called his rival.

“What the hell do you want?” Lucifer answered irritably; he had not recognized the number and would never have picked up otherwise.

“Just wanted to tell you I have absolutely nothing to do with this so-called ‘data dump.’ Nothing. You _know_ I would not lie to you.”

“Don’t ever call me again outside of the 10 minutes each weekday that I’m legally obligated to hear you breathe.”

“I need your help trying to figure out-”

“Piss off.” John stared at his phone as it disconnected, and then shrugged and dialed again. This time it went straight to voicemail.

“Don’t leave a message, John,” warned Castiel. So John left a message, of course.

“Lucifer, John here. This is my new cell number. Call me back today. We need to talk about this insider of yours who is accusing me of something he or she has absolutely no evidence for. I’ll be pressing slander charges tomorrow, and need to know who to name in the lawsuit. If you don’t tell me today who talked to Meg, I’ll name you, since what your employees say to reporters is ultimately your responsibility. Thank you.”

“What the fuck, John?” Gabriel asked in shock after John hung up. “Are you _insane_?”

John froze and stared at him with a ferocity that made Gabe want to be swallowed up by a hole in the floor.

“Excuse me?” John shot back icily. “So that’s how you talk to your boss now?”

“Apparently I have to, because you’re losing your goddamn mind!”

John bristled, so Castiel stepped in between the two of them, his hands held up in a “calm down” gesture.

“Gentlemen, let’s take a break.”

“Go home, Gabriel,” said John irritably, peering over Castiel’s shoulder at him. “I don’t need you right now if you’re going to-”

“You don’t need me at all anymore, looks like.”

Castiel rounded on Gabriel. “ _Stop it_. No one’s going anywhere. Sit down, both of you, and start writing out the media statement before you have a stroke. I’ll make us some more coffee.”

———

**Winchester Home**

“Just keep breathing slowly, Dean. It’s okay,” coached Lisa, who had just returned from her dentist appointment in time to see the poor kid laid out on the couch for the third time this morning.

Benny had been awakened by the commotion and was now sitting anxiously nearby with Dean’s paper bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. “I’m going to call your dad.”

“No,” protested Dean as he struggled to sit up. “I’m fine.”

“Sorry, buddy, I have to. He’s going to kill us already for waiting this long.” He glared at Rufus, knowing he was in for a seriously bad time trying to explain this to John.

Dean protested feebly, then threw up twice. Benny pulled out his phone while Lisa ran to get cleaning supplies.

\-------

**Insurrectionist HQ**

_John Winchester, leader of The Insurrectionists, has launched an internal investigation to determine whether anyone affiliated with his organization is responsible for the confidential data that was released-_

“No,” John said irritably, crossing out _anyone affiliated_ and _responsible_ on Gabriel’s third draft _. “_ Try again.”

Castiel then out read his own edits to the draft: _John Winchester, leader of_ _The Insurrectionists, will immediately launch an internal investigation into the allegations._

John looked up at his Chief of Staff. “Where’s the rest? Or is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay, um. No. Try again. Gabe?”

“Alright, how’s this? _John Winchester, leader of the The Insurrectionists, vehemently denies the allegations regarding his involvement and will immediately launch an internal investigation to determine whether any entity of his organization was involved in the incident.”_

“That’s good. A bit cold, though. Warm it up a little, but keep the same words. My phone’s ringing, hang on. Hey Benny.”

“Sir, we need to take Dean to the hospital. He just threw up some blood, not a lot.”

“Shit. Like, out of the blue? Or has he been panicking?”

Benny took a deep breath, preparing himself for the rebuke of a lifetime. “He’s been panicking. Hyperventilated three times since you left, I’m told.”

“You were _told_?”

“Yes, sir, just woke up and came out to the living room to find him having his third attack. Still is.”

“Alright. Whoever decided not to call me after the second one is fired. You can fill me in later. Take Dean to Palisades, discreetly. I’ll join you when I can.”

“ _When you can_?” Benny blurted, unable to stop himself from keeping the disgust out of his voice.

“You heard me correctly.” John hung up, then turned back to the statement. “Cas, try changing it to _shocking and unacceptable incident_.”

\-----------------

**Philadelphia**

“Hi, it’s Michael. I just received the L.A. Times article. Guess we now know exactly what our mystery caller was predicting. I didn’t think it would be something on this scale. Shocking.”

Bela pulled her car off the road and idly watched two Amish buggies clopping through a field. “I’m on the way to Pittsburgh right now for a wedding. This was the absolute worst time for him to pull the trigger.”

“I was just about run to FedEx to drop off the packet of questions to John. Should I hold off?”

“No, send it. We can always send another one. In the meantime, let’s leave off investigating this new mess, because Lucifer may want to handle it as a corporate espionage case rather than lay criminal charges. He would have a lot more leverage and control that way.”

“What if either one of them asks for our help?” Michael queried, which he knew wouldn’t happen with Lucifer, whose outright hatred for the FBI was well known.

Bela shrugged, even though Michael couldn’t see it. “Then we help, and make it our investigation. Until then, let’s stay out of it. I do think that John’s going to go after this anonymous person who accused him, and we can probably expect a media statement that will get him summoned again.”

“Should I call him and warn him off?”

“Normally I would say no, but it might calm him to know that we’re not adding it to our pile.”

“Okay, thanks. Safe travels.”

Michael picked up the phone and dialed John’s cell.

\------------

**Insurrectionist HQ**

“Fuck,” mumbled John as his phone rang again. “Yes, Michael? How are you on this beautiful, pleasant day, in which my world is absolutely _not_ imploding around me?”

Michael was not amused. “This is a courtesy call, John. I heard the news, but obviously the FBI has no jurisdiction over corporate espionage cases. We’re going to stay out of it unless Lucifer wants to press criminal charges, which he won’t.”

“Ah.” That did calm John considerably, but… “What if he decides to?”

“He won’t unless he has absolute irrefutable proof. Otherwise he will lose and have to pay the legal expenses for both of you, and his reputation would be damaged. There’s nothing to gain by it. I would suggest not contacting him at this time and letting him sort it out on his end.”

“Oh. Well...I, okay.”

Michael sighed. “You already talked to him, didn’t you?”

“No. I just left him a message to call me. He hasn’t yet.”

“Okay. Like I said, no jurisdiction here, but you know I was a corporate lawyer in my past life. Don’t talk to him, and don’t threaten him. Everything you say or do at this point matters. Okay?”

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Hasn’t it always mattered? I can’t take a shit without being criticized by the Opportunists.”

Another sigh from Michael. “You threatened him already, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Uh. Yeah, actually.” John rubbed a knot on the back of his neck. “Basically said I was going to sue him for slander if he didn’t name the person who talked to Meg.”

“Okay, John. That’s...wow.”

“I know. Listen, thanks for your advice. I’ve got to get back to writing this media statement and then get to the hospital to see my kid. Did you send the FedEx?”

“On my way now. It will arrive before 8:30am on Monday.”

“Great. Can’t wait. Have a good weekend.”

Just as John said that, the call came in from Lucifer. John picked it up immediately without a glance at Cas or Gabe.

“Lucifer, I’m so sorry for that message. I’m a dick.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I shouldn’t have threatened you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. If anyone can tell you who this inside source was, it’s Meg. I have no idea, but I can assure you that I’ll be sending a strongly worded memo to my entire organization letting them know that speaking to the press is always unauthorized.”

John swallowed hard. “Thanks. I want to repeat, I have absolutely nothing to do with this.”

“Someone in your organization does.”

“And yours. Who do you think gathered this information in the first place?”

“One of your double agents, obviously,” Lucifer sputtered accusingly.

“Or an Opportunist who has gone rogue and has nothing to do with me,” John retorted.

There was a long silence on the other line. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this now, because it might cause me to lose some early leverage. But we’ve just traced the listserv posting back to a computer in Santa Monica. So it was one of yours. I’ll delete that voicemail, John, and we’ll pretend it never happened. In the meantime, I want you to recall all of your double agents. If you don’t, we’re going to be having a very difficult conversation regarding what my next step is going to be. Let me know your answer by end of day tomorrow. Goodbye.”

John looked at Cas, who was alarmed at the blood that suddenly drained from his boss’s face.

“What did he say?” Cas asked urgently.

“Umm…” John was feeling dizzy again. “He...he said he’ll start investigating, and we’ll talk again at end of day tomorrow. Let’s get that media statement done so I can get to Dean.”


	47. A Fatal Error Has Occurred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my story. Comments are soooooooo appreciated.  
> Hope you, um...enjoy(?) this chapter.
> 
> (I'm sorry)  
> (don't hate me)  
> (I love you)

**Same day**

\----------------------

Lucifer was smarter than most, but his biggest flaw as a strategist was that he lacked a vivid imagination. He certainly knew that there was far more to this story than just a rogue Opportunist or Insurrectionist. Had he been able to think about it long enough, or creatively enough, his very first suspicion would have been that Gadreel was somehow involved. And by extension, so was Uriel, the man who hated John Winchester ten times more than anyone else.

But Lucifer had no such imagination, so he asked Uriel to lead the investigation into how the information got into the wrong hands.

\-------------------------------

**Insurrectionists HQ - Los Angeles**

“Cas, I need to go to the hospital to see Dean before he disowns me.” John was looking at his phone; there were four missed calls from Benny and two from Dean. “I need your suggestion on who we can trust in accounting to get involved in this mess with the receipts. I know you polygraphed everyone-”

“And everyone passed, which means we can’t trust anyone,” Gabriel put in.

“Maybe we were asking the wrong questions,” Castiel answered plainly.

“Oh sure, let’s just come right out with it. ‘Hey, yes or no question, are you trying to get John Winchester thrown in jail?’ Jesus, Cas, really?”

John massaged his forehead with the palms of his hands. “Calm down. Before today, how many people had authorization to send anonymous payments? An exact number.”

Castiel looked depressed as he answered. “22.”

“Alright. We can’t undo that stellar decision to let everyone and their mothers have access, so let’s move on. One of them has been on maternity leave, so that’s 21. And now we only have one person who can do it, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “Gadreel.”

“Why him, exactly?”

“He’s been around a long time. Impeccable record. Very private, and almost painfully respectful to everyone on the team.”

Gabe put in unhelpfully, “Weird voice, too, but that’s another story.”

John stared at him. “Wait...what do you mean, _weird voice_?”

Gabriel chuckled. “Kind of a pompous inflection, sounds likes he’s talking through ten layers of cheesecloth. Annoying as fuck to listen to. Have you never met him?”

“Apparently not. I’d remember that. Okay, let’s polygraph him again and offer him a 3% raise to confidentially help us with this investigation and keep an eye on things from here on out. Thanks, guys. I gotta go see my kid.”

\-----------

John Winchester had a vivid imagination, but even that wasn’t enough to imagine that Gadreel was a candidate for his mystery man. After all, he didn’t know anything about him - about anyone in accounting, actually - and trusted Castiel completely to put him in a position of such responsibility. As Garth was driving him to the hospital, he received a call from Lucifer’s cell phone.

“Long time, no talk. We’re starting an investigation as of right now. I need more time.”

Lucifer sounded unconvinced. “Time for what? To come up with some kind of scheme to point the blame back at me?”

“No. Don’t forget this is _your_ problem, too. You need to move fast to find the person on your side who leaked this information in the first place.”

“I’d love to, and you know how I can do that? By you telling me who you’re paying in my office to get it! Or I could just have the FBI pull all of your financial records and comb through them over the next few months to find the mole. Everything can be traced, John. It’s just a matter of time.”

John was feeling incredibly smug at the moment, because he actually didn’t pay his double agents at all until they decided  “cash out” and quit their undercover jobs to rejoin John’s organization. Only then would they get compensation in proportion to their accomplishments. Very few had actually taken that deal that so far, to John’s surprise. Some agents had been with him for 7 or 8 years.

“Ignore your problem, then,” John said flippantly. “Be prepared for more leaks, though. By the way, how do I know _you_ aren’t the one behind all of this?”

Lucifer laughed. “Oh, I see. Trying to turn the tables on me, are you? You can’t seriously think I released all my personal information. Social security number, bank accounts, everything, just to spite you.”

That was exact the opening John was looking for, and if he didn’t take it now, he might never have the chance again.

“Oh, come on. You have plenty of reasons to spite me, but you know has even more? Uriel.”

“ _Uriel_?”

“Correct. I know you chose him to lead this investigation, which is basically like sending in the wolf to count the sheep. I guarantee you he’s behind this. Perhaps without your knowledge, even? You might want to check the bank account numbers that were allegedly leaked. Bet they aren’t even his.”

“Recall your agents, John,” Lucifer ordered tersely, now even more done with this conversation. “Then we’ll talk again.”

“Nope. This is where the tables are turning now: take Uriel off the investigation. Then, _after_ you nail down the guilty parties and exonerate me, I’ll remove agents from your organization and destroy all the information we’ve gathered that we could use against you if we were so inclined. You have my word. In the meantime, I’m going to continue my investigation with the assumption that I’ll have as much time to conduct mine as you have to conduct yours. Are we agreed?”

“So you’re basically threatening me into giving you more time?” Lucifer asked in disgust.

“Threaten? No, no, don’t be silly. Not at all. Technically, I think it’s called blackmail,” John said lightly, with a sarcastic laugh.

Lucifer smiled - he had him now. “Right. Understood. Take all the time you need, John.”

“Thanks! Chat with you soon, pal.”

John disconnected the call and chuckled to himself in satisfaction.

\----------

**Opportunist HQ - Denver**

Lucifer slowly hung up the phone and turned to look at Uriel, who had blanched at least twice during the last part of call. He reached over and hit the STOP button on the tape recorder.

“You’re sure that was being recorded, right?” asked Lucifer skeptically.

“Yes, boss. Every word.”

“And you heard him say _prepare for more leaks_ and then outright blackmail me, right? I wasn’t imagining it?”

“I did. Loud and clear. He was obviously joking, but..."

“Doesn’t matter. We finally caught him in the act, the smug fucker. Let’s make a few duplicates, then send the original to Michael. I’m going to press criminal charges.”

Uriel blanched again, panicking about having been called out and accused by John. “Wait. What if you...I have a better idea. What if you let John know we recorded that, and threaten to release it to Michael if he doesn’t cooperate?”

Lucifer frowned. “Blackmail, with a blackmail attempt? That is some serpentine shit, right there. Damn.”

“Or, we should wait until we have absolute proof that the listserv posting came from one of his guys. Why rush into this? It’s gotta be foolproof or we’ll have to pay his legal bills. He hasn’t yet admitted to this leak. Just threatening other leaks. I think we can nail him better than this.”

Uriel was all but hyperventilating now. He could _not_ let that recording get out, because John was right - the bank account numbers weren’t his. He had transposed some numbers to protect his funds; a terrible decision, in hindsight. _Stepped on his own dick_ , as John Winchester would say.

Lucifer was thinking as he tapped his pen against his temple. “This is all kinds of fucked up. I don’t even know where to start. Do you think there’s any possibility that Gadreel is involved? I mean, we paid him through the nose for his past services. I can’t imagine him turning against us. But he still works for them, right?”

“He had given his notice last time we spoke, a couple months ago.”

“Shit. Well...maybe you’re right. Let’s take a few more days to get all our ducks in a row.” Lucifer popped the tape out of the recorder and put it carefully in his safe, while Uriel watched in silent horror.

“And of course we have to investigate our own team, too. I’m making a list of who to question first in regards to collecting all that data.”

“I have an idea,” Lucifer said suddenly. “Let’s give Gadreel a call. Just ask him if he knows anyone in John’s office who might have released our info either for him, or for his own reasons. Don’t offer a penny for any kind of service. We’ll start with him, and move on from there.”

Uriel forced down the lump in his throat, but it took a few swallows. “Good idea. I’ll call him.”

\---------------------

**Los Angeles**

“Hey Cas, me again. I have to talk quick, just pulling up to the hospital. I’ve changed my mind. I want our entire senior accounting team placed on paid leave until further notice. All 21 of them, including Gadreel. Confiscate their phones and badges, too. Laptops. Everything. We’re not taking any more chances.”

“I think that’s-”

“Don’t argue with me,” John interrupted bitterly.

“-a wise move, I was about to say.”

“Oh. Sorry. I want all of them intercepted as they arrive to work Monday morning and gathered into a conference room. Then we explain, and send them all home at once. Don’t let anyone get wind of this before 8am Monday, or it could tip somebody off.”

“Will do. I hope Dean feels better soon. Say hello for me.”

“I will. Thanks, Cas. By the way, I think we’re going to be okay with Lucifer. I sort of forced him into his own internal investigation, and now we’ll have enough time to do our own.”

“Forced? How?”

John still felt smug, and he replied lightly, “Oh, just doing what I do. Charm and wit gets you everywhere in this world.”

“Okay. Well, good luck with that. Let me know when you are available to talk again.”

“Will do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah. John made a big-ass mistake by assuming his call wasn’t being recorded, or that Uriel was listening. Now the question is will Uriel let Lucifer actually use it? Because it’s gonna bring him (Uriel) down, too, if anyone takes John’s advice to check those account numbers....we shall see.


	48. Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Winchester finally realizes he might be in deep shit.

**Palisades Hospital**

**Los Angeles**

John was feeling newly invigorated as Garth silently dropped him and Devereaux off at the front entrance of the hospital. Press cars were already there, having tailed Benny and Lisa there hours earlier, and he could feel rather than hear the dozens of shutter clicks go off. It occurred to him too late that he should probably stop smiling, seeing as to what this errand entailed.

Dean was asleep, so Lisa and Benny were standing at the doorway talking to each other in hushed tones as John walked up with Dean’s doctor on his tail.

“Room’s not big enough for all of us,” John murmured. “Why don’t you guys go take a break? Is the cafeteria still open for lunch, Dr. Hanscum?”

The blonde woman nodded cheerfully. “Yes indeed, 24 hours a day. But I’d stay away from the meatloaf if I were you.”

The two guards left, and John went to sit down next to Dean.

“Is this pretty much the same as last time?”

Dr. Hanscum referred to the clipboard that was nestled in her left arm.

“Same cause, but not as drastic. I think he can go home in about 3 hours. We’ve given him a bag of fluid and medications for his stomach. Blood tests are all normal, at least the ones we don’t have to wait a few days to hear back on. I would strongly suggest, though…”

John didn’t want to hear about strengthening the anti-anxiety medication, and the doctor already knew he was deeply opposed to drugging his children into better moods.

“No,” he said preemptively, loud enough that Dean woke up with a start.

“Dad?”

“Sorry, kiddo. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Dean shifted around on his right side to look at his dad. “What time is it? What’s going on? Why did you leave with Uncle Cas?”

John cleared his throat. “It’s almost 2. Can’t answer your other questions. I’m sorry.”

“Are you in trouble again?”

“ _Dean_.”

John looked up to find Sam glaring at him from his chair on the other side of Dean’s bed, but John ignored it. He was fully aware of what was on the boy’s mind and had no interest in discussing it right now. Or ever.

“Want to go home,” Dean mumbled sleepily.

John looked at Dr. Hanscum, who spoke up at last. “Dean, you can go home at 5. I want you to eat something so we can make sure you’re keeping food down. I’ll be right back, Mr. Winchester.”

“Thanks.” He waited until the door closed again before addressing his youngest. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah. Hours ago.”

“Good.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “ _Hours_. Ago.”

Oh boy. _That_ tone. This was going to be bad.

“Right. I heard you.”

“ _Hours_ ...in which you _weren’t here_ because your stupid fucking job is more important than your kids!”

John saw Devereaux stiffen from across the room, so he stifled a rebuke and kept his tone pleasant. “Dean, I’ll be back in a minute. Sam, come with me, please.”

“No.”

John stood and latched a strong hand onto Sam’s arm, effortlessly pulling him into the large bathroom that was attached to the hospital room. He didn’t let go once they were in there alone.

“Sam. I hear you. I get it. But calm down or we’ll be having a chat when we get home. Do you understand me?”

Sam angrily tried to wrench his arm away, in vain. “You’re gonna have to punish Benny then, too, cuz he said the same thing. You suck, dad.”

John swallowed down the hard lump in his throat.

“Thought I told you not to be a tattletale.”

“Whatever. Let me go!” This time Sam succeeded in flinging his arm loose, but there was nowhere to go; his dad was blocking the door.

“Okay. You’ve earned yourself a chat. But I’ll make a deal with you. If you can behave yourself until we get home, I’ll cancel it.”

“And if I don’t?” Sam challenged boldly.

“Gonna be a hell of a discussion, then. Better clear your calendar for the evening.” John stood up and calmly stepped aside to open the bathroom door for his son. “After you.”

Sam hesitated, then darted through the door.

“Devereaux,” John said quietly. ”You can station outside the door, if you prefer. Whatever you feel more comfortable with. I’ll leave it up to you.”

Just as he said that, a visibly stressed Garth showed up and quietly slipped into the room. “Boss, you got a sec?”

“What’s up?”

Garth shook his head slightly and turned away, so John and Deveraux followed him into the hallway and shut the door.

“Yes?”

“There’s a big crowd going nuts outside. All but calling for your blood. Took me forever to get the car parked because they were blocking the ramp to the garage.”

“A big _crowd_? There were maybe a dozen people out there when we arrived.”

“Not anymore, sir. Lots of people now.”

“Fuck. Okay, come with me to the cafeteria to find Benny. Deveraux, stay here.”

—-

As John strolled through the double doors, he was struck dumb by the sight that greeted him. Every single person in the cafeteria had their back to them because they stood crowded around one single television on the wall, transfixed by live imagery of the angry scene outside. Everyone, including all the cafeteria staff and his own guards.

John slowly walked up behind Benny, who didn’t see him, while reluctantly turning his own gaze to the screen. The sound was off, but the captions told the tale loud and clear.

-STUNNING LEAK WAS ATTRI-

-BUTED TO JOHN WINCHESTER-

-THE SAME MAN WHO-

-APPARENTLY HAS NO QUALMS-

-SENDING HIS YOUNG SON-

-TO THE HOSPITAL ALONE-

-LEAVING HIM TO FEND FOR-

-HIMSELF FOR OVER SIX-

-HOURS. HE ARRIVED ONLY-

 _Goddamn_.

“Benny,” John said sharply, startling his once-favorite guard. “What are you doing?”

Benny may have been startled, but there was no worry in his expression. He was not prohibited from watching the news like Dean was, for one thing. And he was on break, for another.

“Monitoring the latest happenings, boss. For your security, of course.”

“Of course. But I need to talk to you. In private.”

———-

**Gabriel’s House**

“Can’t say I blame ‘em, Cas. He should have been at the hospital.” Gabriel muted the television. “But at least we got the media statement done. Not that anyone’s gonna buy it. Jesus, what a cluster.”

“Hmm. Do you think he’s ever going to tell us who the four embedded agents are?”

“Not until he’s on his deathbed.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “You know...he won’t let me tell him why I held back those receipts for so long. Didn’t want to hear it.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Probably for the best, and you know why. He can’t lie. You tell him, he tells the FBI, you get in trouble. He’s protecting you.”

“No, it’s not that. It was something else. He _can_ lie, by the way. Found that out myself last night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Castiel regretted having brought it up, but he did, so he had to finish the story. “He told me he had a rough flight home and it made him worry about what would happen to his kids if the plane crashed.”

Gabriel cocked his head. “You’d be their legal guardian. They’d go to you. He _knows_ that.”

“I know. That’s what puzzled me, but it’s not the only thing. The flight was perfectly smooth. Benny told me. Why would he lie about something like that?”

“I have no idea. That’s odd. Maybe it’s nothing. This whole thing is making him paranoid, and rightly so. You couldn’t pay me enough to be in his shoes right now.”

Castiel opened his briefcase and rummaged through for a long moment before locating his target, a thickly bound version of the new indentured servant laws that had passed on March 1.

“I think the answer is in here. Between the three of us, he’s the only one who’s read the entire thing. Now, these statutes go into effect on April 1, right?”

“Yes. And?”

Castiel sucked in a deep breath. “I was browsing this and happened to come across a clause that says _non-related legal guardians of minors are subject to the court’s approval upon sentencing_.” Pause. “You know what...never mind. I’ve said too much already.”

Gabe stared at his friend. “And not enough. What’s on your mind? Just spill it, for god’s sake.”

“I think…” Castiel bit his lower lip as he debated whether or not to say the horrible words. “I think John isn’t worried about dying at all. Maybe he believes he’s going to jail, and that the court won’t approve me to take care of Sam and Dean.”

“What? He’s innocent.”

“That’s what we think. The FBI might come to a different conclusion.”

“ _Castiel_.” Gabriel stood up as if to end the discussion. “We’re not going there again. He didn’t do it, end of story.”

“You’re not understanding what I’m saying,” Castiel sighed in frustration. “Our opinion doesn’t matter in court. Facts do. If he’s not brought down by those receipts, or those leaks, he’s going to be brought down by something else. Whoever is doing this won’t stop now. It’s only a matter of time before the next thing happens, and we both know John’s his own worst enemy when he’s backed into a corner.”

“Okay, Sherlock. I get it,” Gabriel snapped defensively. “So what do you propose we do, then?”

“Not us. It’s really up to John. If he’s convinced Uriel is behind this, he needs to let Lucifer know and request his cooperation. In order to do that, he’ll need to apologize and make peace with him first.”

Gabe snorted. “Oh. Right. Good luck talking him into that one.”

“If he disagrees and refuses, I’ll let him know what the next step has to be if I’m right, and this keeps up. He’ll want to protect the boys before anything else. If he refuses...”

“Which he _will_...then what’s his plan B?”

Castiel swallowed hard, then looked his friend in the eyes without flinching. “Quitting his job.”

———

**Palisades Hospital**

John Winchester was in a horrific mood after having it out with Benny about his remarks, and then learning he had to fire Rufus when he got home for making the unforgivable decision not to call him when Dean was obviously in need of medical assistance. Sam picked up on the subtle danger instantly and dared say nothing as his dad returned and sat back down with a sigh.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said to Dean. “Dr. Hanscum says you’re good to go. Just waiting for the discharge paperwork.”

“It’s only 3.”

John stroked Dean’s hair back into place. “Well, you’re doing good enough to bail early. Listen, when we leave the hospital I want you to lay down on the back seat and relax. Close your eyes and just breathe. We’ll take it really easy the rest of the weekend.”

He felt Sam’s eyes boring into him. The kid had seen the mob outside the window and wasn’t fooled by his dad’s attempt to keep Dean from seeing them. But he also knew it was best for his brother, so he said nothing.

“How do you feel?” John asked.

“Headache. Tired.”

“Me, too.”

Sam snorted derisively at that, and his dad threw him a dirty look. “Just so you know? You got Benny in deep shit. I told you not to tattle.”

The boy paled instantly. “What did you do?”

John ignored him. “Dean, we have to make a decision regarding your anti-anxiety medication. I know it gives you some bad side effects, but if it’s increased, these panic attacks won’t be so bad. How do you feel about that?”

“Increase it,” Dean murmured. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Okay.” This was the first time John had let Dean have any say in his medical treatment, and it was tough to let go of that control. He instantly regretted asking, because the answer was completely unexpected. Dean hated his pills.

“Or,” interjected Sam bitterly from the other side of the bed, “you can just have a boring job like normal people so that everyone’s not stalking us all the time, and then Dean wouldn’t have to worry and be all drugged up just to function every day.”

The truth was brutal, and it hit him like a cartoon anvil falling from the sky. That was the exact moment John Winchester gave up the battle with his youngest and decided to wear his heart on his sleeve for the first time in his entire life. He looked around the room; they were alone. His throat was tight.

“Sam, you’re right. We can’t do this anymore. Wish granted. I’ve just decided I’m not going to run again in November.”

Sam could only let out a tiny squeak in his surprise. His face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“You can’t tell anyone,” John continued. “I’ll have to announce it in a few weeks. But tomorrow I’m going to call our builders up in Sacramento and start building the house near Yosemite. Do you understand what this means for all of us?”

“Yes. No. I don’t…oh my god.” He was grinning from ear to ear, and John said nothing more as he gave him a few minutes to process the news.

“Sam,” he said eventually. Gently. “I want to talk to Dean alone for a minute, okay? Can you do me a favor and go in the bathroom, and close the door? I’ll come get you shortly.”

Sam got up as if he was in a trance and did exactly as he was told. A very confused Dean turned towards his dad.

“Dad? Why did you tell him like _that_?”

John shrugged and smiled a little. “Does it hurt to make him think I’m doing it for him?”

The teenager grinned sleepily. “Not if you keep letting me think you’re doing it for me.”

“I _am_ doing it for you, Dean.”

Dean sighed happily and closed his eyes. John should have been happy at this moment, too. Both his sons were on his side again, content and optimistic, and mostly behaving themselves lately. Life was good.

But all he could think about was that clause in the new laws. The one that had been running through his mind for two days like credits at the end of a movie. His heart skipped another beat as it started up all over again as he thought about how he had just stupidly and blatantly blackmailed Lucifer: ... _non-related legal guardians of minors are subject to the court’s approval upon sentencing of the felonious parent..._


	49. The Other Shoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly a setup for the next chapter, so it's not terribly exciting (or vomit-inducing, as I'm told previous chapters have been)
> 
> Thanks for reading xoxo

**Los Angeles - later Saturday afternoon**

“Dad?” Dean called as he made himself comfortable on his makeshift bed in the backseat. “Can we stop at Shake Shack?”

“No. Garth, straight home please. Dean, lie down.”

“I am. Can we go sailing tomorrow?”

“No. Hang on. Lisa, can you…”

“Got it,” said Lisa as she got out of the car to clear the hospital’s blocked driveway. John was impressed that she managed the task almost effortlessly and apparently with only a few words to the couple dozen angry people who stood with protest signs. It was too late to keep Sam from seeing them; he read the words and shifted his wide eyes to his dad, but said nothing.

“Dad?” came the voice from the backseat again.

“ _What_ , Dean?”

“I’m hungry.”

“I’ll make you something when we get home.”

The SUV pulled through the crowd slowly, and John looked back to make sure Dean wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t, and seemed content lying facedown on top of all the blankets. “Stay down. You don’t look so good. Best to get you in bed when we-”

“No, I’m fine,” Dean protested. To John’s horror he started to sit up at the worst possible moment, right when they were in the thick of the crowd. He quickly turned and administered an almighty smack to his son’s rear end, much harder than he’d intended.

“I told you to lay down,” he barked, feeling exactly like the total piece of shit father that he was lately.

“Ow!” Dean yelped in surprise as he complied. “What the...sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Oh my god, dad!” Sam objected loudly as he reached over the seat to try and comfort his brother. “You’re so mean.”

John fixed a glare at him. “Do you want to be next? Turn around and be quiet.”

”But that’s so fucked up, I can’t believe you just did that!”

John abruptly hauled Sam facedown over his lap and held him down tightly.

“I told you to be quiet,” he growled. “One more word and I’m spanking you all the way home, just like this. Got that?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam answered tightly.

“Sit up. Put your seatbelt on.”

Sam obeyed and kept his mouth tightly shut, although the ferocious glare he was giving his father nearly scorched John’s eyebrows.

”Dean, you okay?” John asked belatedly, but he didn’t wait for an answer. Lisa rejoined the car as they passed through the kerfuffle, and John gave her a silent nod of grateful thanks. 

As they got on the freeway, a van from channel 5 news abruptly pulled up alongside and stuck a camera out the window. Garth quickly changed lanes once, then twice more before losing them in the heavy traffic.

The entire car was dead silent except for Sam and Dean’s overlapping sniffles.

\----- **  
** **Gabriel’s House.**

While conversing with Castiel, Gabriel saw a black SUV on the television screen out of the corner of his eye and grabbed the remote control to turn up the volume. An excitable young reporter was currently airing live in front of the hospital’s driveway.

_-chester has just left the hospital with his family, and it appears they’re heading home. We’ve just learned from two Opportunists executives affected by the data breach that their bank accounts have already been siphoned of several thousand dollars, and that might be the least of their worries. Their social security numbers were released along with more than enough info to allow false accounts opened in their names, identity theft, and other-_

“Way to give people ideas, you dumbass.”

Castiel leaned back into his chair. “They’ll do it anyway if they’re so inclined.”

_-eager to hear what Mr. Winchester has to say about this debacle. Of course, it hasn’t been proven he was involved, but computer experts did trace the listserv posting back to a server in West Los Angeles. As we all know, that is where the Insurrectionist Headquarters is located._

“Yeah,” grumbled Gabe, “because there aren’t like five million other people in the same area who-”

“Shhhh!”

_-and we’re still not sure what to make of his lengthy meeting in Philadelphia yesterday, which happened to coincide with the president’s trip to FBI headquarters. It’s possible he was there to specifically meet with Mr. Winchester, but that’s just speculation and we don’t know if they met or-_

“ _Everything_ you say is speculation, dimwit!”

“Seriously, Gabe? I want to hear this, please.”

- _say for certain now is that the tide has turned against Mr. Winchester as far as public opinion is concerned, his unexpected opposition to two crucial votes this month all but forgotten in light of this morning’s news. Let’s turn it over to Meg Masters, who is currently outside of the Winchester home waiting for the family’s return. Meg?”_

“Oh, fuck,” Gabe exclaimed as he snatched up his phone.

\------------

“Gabe,” John answered tersely. “Not a good time.”

“You’re telling me. Meg Masters is broadcasting live from your driveway right now.”

“What? Shit, we’re like a block away. Thanks, I’ll call you back.” He hung up. “Garth.”

“Boss?”

“Turn around and take the back entrance to the house. Lisa?”

“Radioing them now, sir.”

There was a rear underground entrance to the house on the street that ran along the back side of the property, but it wasn’t finished yet and had no gate or paving. The guards would have to hurry to run back and remove the temporary barriers, and then Garth would have to drive over construction materials to get there, but it was doable.

“Dad?”

“Not now, Dean. Garth, take it easy. Slow and steady so we don’t beat the guards there.”

“We’re being followed, sir. Four cars, maybe five.”

 _Fuck._ “Okay. Go through the Shake Shack.”

“Dad?”

“Be _quiet_ Dean, for god’s sake!”

“But I’m going to throw up. Carsick from laying down.”

“Okay, sit up. Sam, get him a bottle of water from the cooler. One for me too, please.”

Garth deftly turned the car around in a cul de sac and headed back to Pico Boulevard. The Shake Shack was an excellent spot to dodge press cars; they usually didn’t follow their prey through the drive-thru because they would get stuck behind the gates that wouldn’t rise until food was paid for and taken at the window. There was nowhere for them to wait, either, so most of the time Garth was able to break free of tails with this method. This time, however, three press cars followed him right in as if they were all attached to each other’s bumpers with a chain. As they pulled up to the speaker, John moved to the left side of the car and rolled down the window. There was a tiny camera pointing straight at him.

_Welcome to Shake Shack, this is Anael, may I take your order?_

“Good afternoon, Anael. Do you know who I am?”

_Yes, sir! We’re studying you at school this month._

John blushed, as he often did at unexpected reminders of his fame. Or infamy, as some would say. “Ah. Well, I need a big favor. We’re going to pull up to your window now without ordering, okay?”

_Yes, sir._

Garth pulled up slowly. John was afraid to know what Dean must be thinking, but there was no time to worry about it right now.

“Anael, we just need to sit here for about five minutes like we’re waiting for an order. Then I need you to stall the cars behind me for a few minutes, please. We’re trying to lose them so I can get my son home safely and privately. He’s been sick.”

“Vultures,” Anael replied in disgust. “Yes, sir, don’t you worry. Would you like some coffee while you wait?’

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

She smiled brilliantly, obviously starstruck beyond repair. “And can I ask _you_ a favor, sir? I kind of secretly read my textbooks at work when business gets slow. You know? Between orders, nothing else to do. Happens a lot.”

“That sounds very...dedicated.” John wasn’t sure where this was going.

Anael gleefully turned around and pulled out a Sharpie from somewhere, along with her her history book. “Would you autograph this for me, Mr. Winchester? Right here in chapter 22. There’s where you first come in, way back when you were born.”

 _Way back when? Ouch._ “And how did I die?” he teased, flipping to the later chapters as if searching for an answer to his destiny.

Anael shrugged. “I don’t know, we haven't gotten that far yet. Do you mind signing it?”

John froze. “Uh. Doesn’t this book belong to your high school?”

“Not anymore. Gonna steal it now.” Anael grinned.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.” John dutifully signed the book, adding a “stay in school” note with a smiley face.

“Thank you! I’ll get your coffee now.”

John turned to Lisa after Anael walked away from the window, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “ _Way back when_. For fuck’s sake. Like I was roaming around with the dinosaurs or something."

Lisa cleared her throat - which sounded suspiciously like a camouflaged laugh - and spoke quietly into her lapel mic to get an update from the house.

“Do you get asked for your autograph a lot, dad?” Sam asked in awe. He had never seen this happen before, because their guards always prevented strangers from getting that close to their dad everywhere they went.

“Not so much anymore. Mostly during the war, and right after.”

“Did women ever ask you to sign their boobs?”

John almost choked on his water, and Garth let out a strangled bark. 

“Seriously, Sam? Where on earth did you get that idea?”

“Saw it after a wrestling match. And a concert. I don’t remember the other thing.”

John was going to deny it, but there was nothing to be lost by lightening the mood in the car a little. “Okay, well...yeah, they did. Your dad was a stud once, you know.” He winked at his son.

Sam was full of mischief suddenly. "I bet you did it. Didn’t you?”

“Never, actually. I was married to your mom, and that’s not acceptable behavior for a husband. For a good husband, anyway. Lisa, what did Benny say?”

“He said they need about three minutes. Working hard to clear a path."

“Thanks. Dean, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I guess,” came the grumbled, unhappy reply. He couldn’t possibly be amused by anything at the moment.

Anael came back to the window with the coffee and waited until Lisa finally gave the go-ahead to leave. John handed the young woman $50 first. “This is for the replacement book. Just say you lost it and don’t steal anything else, ever. Okay, we’re ready to go. Thanks, Anael.”

The gate instantly lifted up, and Garth pulled out as quickly as he could manage without actually leaving smoking tire tracks. Two seconds later the long flimsy arm fell back down again so fast that it crashed down on the roof with a bone-crunching THWACK _!_ that made everyone jump.

“Son of a bitch!” Garth exclaimed under his breath as he floored it and turned right onto Olympic.

John held back laughter as he turned to look out the back window; Garth was as lovingly protective of the SUV as John was of his Impala. “Yeah. She may have timed that poorly, but it did the trick. They’re trapped. Okay, get us home.”

“Goddamn, gonna have a hell of a time buffing out that motherfu-”

“ _Garth_!”

“Sorry, boss.”

\--------------

**Sunday**

The church that the leaders of The Insurrectionists attended had informally been considered off-limits for protests and media attention, and John was glad to see that today was not a break in tradition. There were, as usual, photographer’s cars parked across the street and in the square, but that was all. It was almost too quiet.

Gabriel and Castiel were already there, and John took his usual place in between them.

“Hey guys,” he whispered. “Surprised I didn’t get any other calls last night from you two. Meg must’ve shit a brick once she realized I slipped past her."

“John!” Castiel admonished with a fierce and increasingly common  _we’re in church, you idiot_ type of hand gesture.

John looked up in the balcony, where his grumpy sons were just sitting down. “You know, I have an idea. If you’re not busy, why don’t guys come to the servant’s luncheon with us after this? It’s rather fun. Not sure why I haven’t invited you before.”

Castiel looked askance at him, but Gabriel butted in first. “Would love to, thanks John. You would too, right Cas?”

“I would?”

“Great, it’s settled then. I’ve always wanted to see what the famous Winchester Sunday Bruncheon is all about.”

“Why do you want us to come?” Castiel asked suspiciously, ignoring the looks from Gabriel that were clearly designed to shut him up.

John looked hurt. “Do I have to have a reason? Maybe I just want you there because you’re my closest friends, and my kids idolize you. You should be there.”

Castiel was supremely discomfited by this gesture, since it fit neatly into his theory that that John was preparing to possibly lose his kids and wanted their godfathers to get more comfortable around the household. Just in case?

“I’m sorry John, I’m just confused. You’re so secretive about your family one day, and the next you’re inviting us to this. It just makes me wonder what’s really-”

“Cas,” Gabriel said warningly. “This is not the time or place for that particular discussion.”

John looked back and forth between the two of them. “What _particular discussion?_ ”

“Nothing, John,” Castiel whispered quickly, and quieter than before. “We’re just not used to this. I mean, even after ten years I don’t know how many servants you _have,_ and now I’m about to have lunch with all of them. You’re quite the secret keeper, you know, so this is...new. That’s all.”

John’s nerves prickled. “We have 11, so now you know. S _ecret keeper_? What does that mean, exactly? And why are you so offended about me asking you to a brunch with my household?”

“I’m not offended. I’m alarmed.”

John raised his voice just over a whisper, although he felt like shouting. “Oh, really? Well forget it then, sorry I asked. You’re uninvited.”

“Thank you.”

Gabriel reached over and put a hand on Castiel’s knee, keeping his face carefully neutral. “ _Stop it_ , both of you. We are _in church_ , in case you haven’t noticed. You’re acting like children.”

 _Children._ John looked up again at his boys, who were watching him curiously.

 _What’s wrong? Sam_ mouthed.

 _Uncle Cas is being an assbutt,_ John mouthed back.

“I understood that, John,” Castiel hissed.

“Good,” John replied shortly, as he angrily flipped open his bible. 

“Oh my god,” muttered Gabriel. “If you were my kids you’d both be over my knee by now. Shut up, the sermon’s starting.”

John ignored him, his mind already elsewhere, as usual. Sam had giggled at the _assbutt_ remark, but Dean had no reaction at all except for a deeper scowl. He was still upset about getting smacked in the car yesterday, and John didn't blame him, and he flushed hotly again at the reminded. _What kind of father does that to a kid that just got out of the hospital? Oh that’s right, my kind._

\------------------------

John was stone-faced as he sat with Castiel and Gabriel in the limo a few hours later from the hotel back to the house. The bruncheon had gone well, but John refused to talk business until it was over. Now the boys were in the other car so that the three men could talk, and John was thoroughly ready to set fire to the Sunday newspaper he was currently holding.

“Okay, this is…they’re talking about our double agents. How do they even know we have them? Has Lucifer been talking to the press himself on this side? That’s completely illegal.”

It was true; in this era of government John, Castiel, Gabriel, Lucifer, Uriel, and Balthazar were expressly prohibited by law from speaking to any political reporter off the record or even casually. Even to be seen greeting Meg at a party could get any of them censured on the spot, for example. Not that John would ever give her the time of day, of course, except at press conferences. If Lucifer had talked to the press, well...that was something.

Gabriel looked deeply bored by the whole thing already. “Oh come on, we’ve been through this before. All Lucifer had to do was tell someone like Zachariah, and _he_ could run off and tell Meg. You know that law is really just for show.”

John looked sharply at his friend. “I wrote that law, Gabe, and it’s not just for show.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said sincerely, feeling utterly foolish that he had forgotten that detail.

“Furthermore,” John added, “this article claims the Opportunists don’t employ double agents. That’s another thing that should only be at Lucifer’s level of knowledge, and Uriel’s. And Balthazar’s, but certainly no lower.”

“It does make us look really bad in comparison,” Gabriel conceded.

“And this bullshit right here.” John jabbed angrily at a paragraph in the second article on the front page.

_Sources say the FBI is currently investigating John Winchester for bribery. Two men who spoke under strict conditions of anonymity reached out to a reporter at this paper to claim they were personally given $3,000 by an inside agent of John Winchester in exchange for unspecified services, and that they have the receipts to prove it. Furthermore, one of these men claims he has information on the December murder of Uriel’s driver that could lead to a revelation of Mr. Winchester’s involvement in the assassination, including several calls he allegedly made to the killer just five days before the incident. As if that’s not enough, at least one man who claims to work for the Insurrectionists in Los Angeles has let us know he offered his services to the FBI as an informant. We will be updating this column daily as this extraordinary story evolves._

There was an ugly silence in the car for a long time, which John eventually broke.

“Guys. What the fuck is going on?”

“We don’t know,” Gabriel said. “We’re doing everything we can, you know that. But I have a plan.”

“What?” John rasped. “Speaking of plans, theirs is already working. I truly feel like I’m the one going crazy, not everyone else.”

“Well you’re not, so let’s talk about it. You’re convinced Uriel is behind all of this, right?”

John nodded. He felt like he was having an out of body experience all of a sudden.

Gabriel pressed on calmly. “Right. So...you should tell Lucifer that and ask for his help.”

“I already did.”

Castiel was startled. “Oh...you did? When?”

“Friday night. He just laughed. Uriel’s leading the investigation for him. I also told Michael. Without evidence, he’s completely unwilling to pursue it. So, forget that. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but it just was something I don't really want to talk about."

"That was an important thing to leave out, John. You have to keep us informed of these things."

Gabriel nodded. "Agreed. So much for plan A."

"Yep. What’s our plan B?”

Castiel and Gabriel looked at each other, each unwilling to tell John to quit his job yet. It was too soon, and there was still a lot of work to do.

“We’re working on it,” they said together.


	50. I'm Yelling Timber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's going down.

Late **Sunday night, Winchester House**

Four hours into his research John had made no discoveries, and no decisions. He hadn’t picked up his phone, either, despite both Castiel and Gabriel trying to reach him in the past half hour. To say his despair was at its lowest ebb wouldn’t have been much of an exaggeration; the worst was when Mary died. This was only a very distant second.

He threw aside the newspaper as the expected knock broke into his thoughts. “Come in.”

Dean came in reluctantly, looking for all the world like he would rather be walking over lava than get any closer to his dad.

“Sit down.”

Dean obeyed, then looked at his hands and said nothing, so John began without any preamble.

“You’re still mad at me for what happened in the car yesterday.”

_Nod._

“Dean, you _know_ that when I tell you to do something, you do it, even if you don’t know why. I want you to take a look at this and tell me if you can figure my reasoning for making you lie down.” He picked the newspaper back up and handed it to his son. “Look at the picture. What do you see?”

“Protesters.” He peered closer. “Wait, that’s Lisa, and…that’s our car.”

“Yes, this is us as we left the hospital yesterday. Those protesters were angry with me.”

Dean picked up on his meaning immediately. “Oh. You didn’t want me to see them so that I wouldn’t panic again.”

“Correct. Now do you see why I did what I did?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean amended. His eyes darted back to a pair of familiar, unpleasant objects on the credenza. John followed his gaze and then felt his heart fall a little.

“I’m not going to paddle you, Dean. You just got out of the hospital, for god’s sake.”

”That didn’t stop you from...”

Dean quickly trailed off and fell silent.

“Good choice not to finish that sentence, kiddo,” John replied stiffly.

Dean took a deep breath. “Sorry. Did you really fire Rufus, dad?”

The unexpected change of subject left John felt slightly disoriented for a moment. “Uh. Yes, I did. A few hours ago.”

“Because of me?” Dean wiped a stray tear from his eye. “I talked him into not calling you. Begged him. This is my fault.”

“Not completely, but you did play a big part in it. Dean, you’re 16 now. Old enough to where your decisions don’t affect just you alone anymore. Almost everything you do and say impacts someone else, too.”

Dean swallowed hard. This discussion was far worse than any corporal punishment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered miserably. “Please hire him back.”

John’s eyebrows raised way up. “What? You don’t even like him.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted this, dad.”

“I’m sure he didn’t, either. I just hope you’ll both learn something from this and not repeat your mistakes. And I also expect you to stop sulking around, pronto. Go to bed.”

“Dad.”

“What?”

Dean took a deep breath and braced himself for backlash. “You’re right, I’m 16 now. Old enough to hear the truth. You could have just told me in the car you didn’t want me to look out the windows because you thought it would panic me. Maybe next time you can just tell me what’s going on so that you don’t even _have_ _to_ tell me what to do, and I’ll just figure it out for myself.”

John swallowed hard. Dean was growing up so fast; it was both fascinating and difficult to witness.

“I hear you, Dean. I do. But sometimes I don’t have time to explain myself, nor should I have to even if I do. You know better. Next time, the belt comes out.”

Dean looked about to cry at that.

John felt hellishly sleepy all of a sudden, and his son turned to a blur for a few moments. “Okay, discussion over and you’re forgiven. Just remember I’m going to protect you as long as I can now, because I’m not going to be around forever.”

“Dad! Don’t say that.”

John sat back in his chair. “Sorry, I’m confused. I thought you said you were old enough to hear the truth.”

“But not _that!_ ”

John didn’t really have time for this, he realized. Castiel and Gabriel had called again, there was still the email to Michael to finish, and he had to plan out his meetings for Monday. Nothing had been finished, only partially started and abandoned. It was already nine o’clock.

“You can’t have it both ways, Dean. Either you get treated like an adult, or like a child. Which is it? Let me know so that we can stop arguing already.”

Dean was breathing hard again. Too hard. _Fuck._ John stood up.

“Never mind. We’re both tired, and I can see you’re starting to get too stressed. Go to bed.”

The intercom button light up, and John kept an eye on Dean as he triggered the microphone.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Novak’s driver is at the front gate, sir. Asking if he can come in.”

“Is Castiel with him?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Devereaux.

“Tell me that, then. Let them in.” He fought back his irritation (which was over nothing, admittedly) and turned to his son again. “Come on, upstairs we go.”

“I know the way, dad,” Dean protested as John followed him out and up the stairs.

“Just checking to make sure you’re going to be okay. You’re red.”

“I’m _fine._ ”

“Okay. Goodnight.” John turned and went back down the stairs to the front door, where Castiel had just exited his car.

“I need some air. Let’s walk.”

Castiel stared at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Haven’t really taken advantage of all these grounds. With these walls, we could plan World War 3 and no one would ever know. Why are you here, Cas? It’s kind of late. Not that I mind, but you’ve got me worried.”

“Right. Well, first of all, because you didn’t pick up your phone. Secondly, because Gabriel and I feel like it would be best if you took a couple of days off and just let us work on this thing while you stay out of the spotlight.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Castiel stared again. “Really? We were sure you’d fight me about this.”

“I’m guessing you drew the short straw when you guys were deciding who had to come over and give me this suggestion.”

“No. Rock, paper, scissors. Something I learned from Dean and Sam.”

“Always go rock.”

“I went paper.”

“That’s what you get. Anyway, I’m not mad. I can work from home and do a few things without causing chaos at the office.”

John cleared his throat and tried to ignore his racing heart. “I, uh...you know what, Cas. There’s something I need to ask you. You’re not going to like it.”

“Yes?”

John hesitated and didn’t say anything for a while. Castiel didn’t prompt him.

“Okay,” he said eventually. “I’ve asked you before, but you didn’t seem sure about your answer. Do you _really_ want to be the legal guardian to my sons? And don’t get mad, but it’s just...at the banquet, you seemed so uncomfortable and unhappy. Awkward as hell. I felt like you didn’t want to get to know the household at all, or maybe you and the boys just aren’t as close as I thought you were. And it’s okay if so, it really is. They’re a huge, life-changing responsibility.”

Castiel looked crushed. “I’m sorry, John. I just...I don’t think I’m ready to be a father to them. And it’s not because of them. It’s because of you.”

“What?” John askance, looking confused. “What does that even mean?”

“You’re acting like they’re going to be handed over to me tomorrow. I can’t accept that you won’t be around for longer than that. Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on and stop dropping hints all over the place?”

“I’m not dropping hints! I’m being realistic. Cas, I could be killed in a car accident in the morning. Or a week from now. I guess I just started worrying once I realized how short life is in the past few months.”

Castiel said plainly. “You’re lying. You also lied about having a rough flight home on Friday, you lied about why you wanted me and Gabe at the banquet, and you’ve been lying by omission for weeks in regards to what’s going on between you and Lucifer. Tell me the truth now, or I’m going to walk away and not come back for any reason. I’m dead serious, John.”

John had stopped in his tracks some time ago, and he found himself unable to move or speak for several long moments.

“This is the only chance I’m giving you,” Castiel continued. “Because we both know tomorrow is going to be too late.”

John stuffed his hands inside his coat; he was freezing now, but it wasn’t the temperature. “Fine. Ten years ago I visited Uriel in prison to apologize to him for what I’d done to bring him down, because for some absurd reason I felt guilty about it. You know what he said to me?”

“What?”

“He thanked me for visiting him, and then said he would return the favor someday.”

Castiel was unimpressed. “Okay. That’s nothing. People make threats all the time, John.”

“It was more than a threat. It was a promise. I can still see his face, and hear his tone, and feel my body go numb every time I think of it. He’s been obsessed with me ever since. Even Lucifer mentions it on occasion. This whole thing has been years in the making, Cas.”

“Then we have years of trails to follow.”

“No. He learned his lesson the first time about not leaving trails. How do you think I got him?”

They walked in silence for a few more minutes until John had the courage to speak again.

“It’s not that I’m giving up or anything. I want to fight this.” He thought about how he had blackmailed Lucifer, but decided not to mention it at the moment. “But the truth is, Cas...I always knew this was coming. That it was only a matter of time.”

“That has to be difficult to live with.”

“Yeah. Going back to Lucifer. I’ve been going after him so hard over the years for several reasons, all of which you know...but also because I knew that if he goes down, so does Uriel.”

Castiel paled a little. “Oh. That explains a lot.”

“Then I started to become friendly with him, of all things...and _that’s_ when Uriel swooped in and got me. I let my guard down, Cas. Turns out I actually like Lucifer, who’d have thought? What a cluster fuck.”

“Likeable or not, he got Ruby killed. You know that. God knows what else he’s done.”

John went so quiet for a minute that Castiel thought he’d gotten separated from him in the dark.

“John?”

“Right here. We don’t need God to tell us what Lucifer’s done, Cas. We’ve got double agents for that. And if I’m going down, so is he.”

\--------------------------------


	51. Fragile Resolve

**Castiel’s house, same evening**

“Gabriel, we have a problem. John agreed to stay away from the office for a few days.”

“But...wait, that’s what we asked him to do!”

Castiel grunted. “Now we can’t keep an eye on what he’s doing. He’s given up already, thinks he’s lost this battle. He’s going to focus on bringing Lucifer down instead of absolving himself.”

“Wait. I’m confused. Back up, Cas, you’re freaking me out.”

“Sorry. We talked for about two hours just now. He’s going to recall his double agents, get all the dirt he can on Lucifer, and take him down with him. Those were his words, not mine. He seems to be uninterested in trying to find a trail back to Uriel anymore. Told us to keep trying, but there was no point. He’s convinced Uriel can’t get caught.”

Gabriel’s hair stood up on the back of his neck. “Oh, fuck. This is not good.”

“It gets worse. He wants to do a press conference tomorrow at four o’clock. Not a media statement, mind you, but a full-on press conference. I think he’s finally lost his mind, Gabe.”

“Shit, well...he’s the boss. I’ll start preparing. In the meantime, it’s your job to talk him out of it. I’m not going to get caught in a lurch if you can’t succeed.”

“Agreed. That would only make things worse. Wish me luck.” 

**Insurrectionist HQ, 4pm**

Castiel was not successful in talking John down, and now he and Gabriel silently leaned up against the back wall of the press room and watched their boss with a level of fear and awe they had never quite felt before. First off was John’s media statement.

“Thank you all for coming,” he stated calmly, and cheerfully. “As usual, I will start this off by reading our official media statement regarding the recent allegations against me and our organization in general:

_The Insurrectionists are aware of the numerous allegations made Friday and Saturday against John Winchester, leader of the party. Only one of the allegations are true: we do in fact utilize a small number of informants within the Opportunists organization. This practice is not, and has never been, illegal. Their work is limited to passive monitoring for illegal activity and reporting on the general morale of the party’s employees and its constituents. Their purpose has never been to sabotage operations or release unauthorized information, and they are not paid for their services. However, in an abundance of caution, we have made the decision to recall all such persons back to Los Angeles effective immediately, and will not engage in this practice in the future.”_

There was a collective, excitable gasp from all around the newsroom. Castiel let out the long breath he’d been holding, and Gabriel fidgeted with his tie for the hundredth time.

_All other allegations are categorically false and will be proven as such in very short order. Mr. Winchester has personally made the decision to step down as leader of the Insurrectionists while these investigations are ongoing, in order to prevent situations at the office that may create tension or result in conflicts of interest. Castiel Novak, Chief Strategist, will lead the party until further notice. The investigation itself will be conducted primarily by Gabriel Angel and Charlie Bradbury, with the gracious assistance of an FBI auditor._

John set the statement down and hit the green button on his podium. “I have ten minutes for questions.”

\-------------

**Opportunists HQ - Denver**

“My god. Balls of steel, that man. No matter how much I hate him, gotta say it.” Lucifer whistled low and took another handful of chocolate covered almonds from the jar on Uriel’s desk.

Balthazar shook his head, but didn’t avert his eyes from the television. “For a smart man, he’s not very smart sometimes. Putting his entire accounting staff on leave? Jesus Christ.”

Uriel leaned forward. “Shhh, I think this is the last question. Bet you anything Meg’s gonna get it.”

\---------

**Insurrectionist HQ**

“Yes, number 27.”

Meg stood up, looking as smug as usual. “Mr. Winchester, do you think these charges are just a string of easily explainable coincidences, or do you believe you’re being framed?”

Castiel and Gabe simultaneously tensed up. Again. They absolutely hated when John went for a free-for-all on questions like this, especially against Meg.

John smiled. “Ms. Masters, I don’t believe in coincidences. Next question, please?”

Castiel glanced at his friend, who was sweating bullets. “He’s doing pretty good, actually. Holding his own.”

“Wish I could say the same for me,” Gabriel grumbled. “I’m one more question away from wetting my pants.”

John punched the green button again. “Yes? Mr. Cain.”

\-------------

**Opportunists HQ - Denver**

Uriel held his breath and tried not to draw attention to his sudden angst. Mark Cain was one of the photographers Gadreel paid off.

“Mr. Winchester, it’s well known that you offered to bribe photographers not to take pictures of your sons. You admitted as much, and were publicly censured for it. How is it that you now claim you made no such payments? Is such a statement supportable?”

“As I already said, Mr. Cain, these payments were unauthorized. We’re investigating them.”

At this, John looked right into the Denver station’s camera and smirked. It seemed to Uriel that the man was looking straight at him. Mocking him. Daring him.

“Wait, I don’t get it,” said Lucifer slowly. “Who would be doing this to him? _We’re_ not. I mean...doesn’t this seem incredibly strange? I know he has a lot of enemies, but if he’s right, this is a pretty sophisticated operation.”

Balthazar, who was secretly a huge fan of John’s chutzpah but would never admit it to these particular men, laughed a little nervously. “Well, as long as he doesn’t pin it on us, I don’t care. Maybe one of his agents went rogue. More likely, he’s guilty as hell. He’s bribed people before, for god’s sake. Almost got jailed for it a few times.”

“Years ago,” Lucifer scoffed.

“Nobody’s doing anything. He’s guilty as hell, boss,” said Uriel, as calmly as he could manage. Winchester had no chance.

Until he did something totally unexpected, that is.

John cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, we’ve run out of time for questions. I want to strongly encourage the six photographers who allegedly received these payments from me to please call the FBI with information as to how, when, and where they received the money. Whether their answer implicates me or someone else, it’s incredibly important that this information be made known as soon as possible in order to allow us to complete the investigation. If you do not call on your own accord, it is highly likely you will be subpoenaed to travel to Philadelphia to give testimony once my trial begins. Here is the number FBI’s tip hotline. Oh, and forgive me for neglecting to mention that we even know where the cashier’s checks were purchased, and we’re very close to obtaining video of the person who bought them. We are hoping to link that person to the person who made the false payments. Possibly it is the same man or woman. Thank you for your time, and have a nice evening.”

 _Oh, holy fuck..._ Uriel said to himself as he saw his entire future crashing down around him. If Gadreel was identified, Lucifer would see through the entire charade in a heartbeat. It was time to think fast.

“Boss, I think you ought to pull the trigger with that tape, now. Shoot this thing down before it grows wings and the public starts supporting him and saying we’re framing him.”

Lucifer nodded. “I was thinking the same. He was pretty convincing, huh?”

Balthazar looked at the floor. “He’s got _me_ convinced we’re framing him, for god’s sake. I hate to admit it, but Uriel’s right. We need to get the jump on him now.”

“Agreed. Alright. We have to protect ourselves..and our party, more importantly. Let’s do it. I’m going back to my office.”

\---------

**Insurrectionist HQ**

**John’s office**

Castiel immediately busied himself making an espresso while John began packing up his things and prepared to go home for a while. _Hopefully not forever_ , he mused.

Gabe was the first to speak. “John...I have to say, I’m incredibly impressed with how well you handled yourself. I’m sorry I ever fought with you about this press conference in the first place.”

“It’s alright, Gabe. You weren’t wrong.”

“What you said about the FBI subpoenaing the photographers, though. Was that true? I mean, we don’t even know who they are, unless you know something we don’t.”

John grimaced. “Yeah, about that. I sort of made it up on the spot. I’m going to have hell to pay for that when Michael hears about it, if he hasn’t already-”

John’s phone rang, and it was Michael. “Speak of the devil. I’m going to put him on speaker so don’t say anything, okay?”

The men nodded, and John answered the phone.

“John Winchester.”

“Hi, John. Michael. Just watched your press conference.”

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m completely prepared for you to rip me a new one. Go ahead, I deserve it.”

There was a brief pause. “You mean over the subpoena thing? No. I thought it was quite clever. Hell, if it leads to tips I can use, all the better for it. I was calling for something else. Did you receive the questionnaire packet yet? FedEx said it was delivered at 10:30am.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Good. The other thing is that I have some potentially upsetting news, John. Lucifer has indicated he wishes to meet with me tomorrow. He’s flying out tonight on a red-eye. I didn’t want you to hear it on the news first.”

 _Oh, shit_. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know. What does that mean for me, exactly?”

Michael replied, “He hasn’t actually told me, but I think you know what it could mean.”

“Yeah.” There was only one reason Lucifer would ever willingly meet with Michael.

“You should prepare to meet with me to discuss this. If he...god, I hate to tell you this over the phone in this manner. But if he does have enough evidence for us to press criminal charges-”

“You’ll have to arrest me.” John swallowed hard. “When?”

“Assuming that’s the reason he’s coming, Thursday. Possibly Friday. You really should make finishing that questionnaire a priority.”

John’s throat was dry, and he had to swallow a few times to reply. “Make it Monday. I need one more weekend with my kids.”

“Just a second.”

Michael put him on hold; he didn’t dare look at Castiel or Gabriel in the meantime.

“John,” said Gabe softly.

“Shhh.”

It seemed like an eternity passed before Michael came back on the line. “Just spoke to Bela. She guaranteed no earlier than Monday.”

“Thank you.”

“John, don’t despair too much yet. It’s possible he’s only going to-”

“No, it’s not. But thanks for trying to make me feel better. I better get back to work. Or home, rather, since I have no work at the moment.”

“Sure. I thought you did an outstanding job on the press conference, and it was a good idea to step aside for a little while. We’ll keep you updated from my end.”

John hung up the phone and turned back to his closet. He was strangely calm and focused.

“Can I talk now, John?” asked Gabriel softly.

“Be my guest.”

“We’re going to find a way to get you out of this. I promise.”

John laughed a little. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep. I’m going home, gents. Cas, I’ll call you in a little while. I have some ideas to pursue for the investigation.”

Castiel still said nothing. He hadn’t said a word since the press conference, not even the slightest glint of approval, and it hurt John’s feelings.

“Goodnight, guys. You okay, Cas?”

“No.”

“Me either. Keep in touch, okay?”


	52. It Begins

* * *

**Winchester House**

**Tuesday morning, March 14**

It was rare for John Winchester to feel sorry for himself, but here he was doing exactly that. The questionnaire Michael had sent him was intense, but by lunchtime he got halfway through it before getting completely stuck on one odd question:

_On December 19 and 20, three calls were made from your cell phone to the number (303) 975-4153. Please explain the nature of these calls, including the recipient’s name._

He had looked at his phone records just to be sure, and found that he had indeed made those calls. Most likely while he was at home, judging by the time they were made. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why on earth he would have called any Denver numbers back then. He searched his email for a reference to it and found nothing. Rather than skipping this question and moving on to the next, he just sat there and stared at it for a good hour or so before picking up the phone and calling Castiel.

“Hey Cas, do me a favor? Have Charlie search for some info on this number. I’ll explain why later, but it should be a priority.” He gave the number.

“Will do. Are you okay, John? Haven’t heard from you all day. Sent you a couple emails.”

“I know, sorry. I’ll get to them right now. How are you doing?”

Castiel sighed. “Remember how I said I never wanted your job? I still don’t.”

“I know. With any luck I’ll steal it right back from you soon. I need you to stop by tonight and sign some paperwork related to your guardianship of the boys.”

“John-”

“Don’t start with me, Cas. It’s just precautionary, something I should have done it a long time ago.”

Long silence. “Fine. What time?”

“Whenever. Thank you.”

\------------

**FBI HQ - Philadelphia**

“Lucifer is here, sir,” sang out the receptionist on Michael’s intercom.

“Send him in.” Michael slammed shut the binder on John Winchester, and braced himself for an incredibly rough meeting. He couldn’t stand Lucifer in any shape or form, not even to watch him on TV, and he especially hated the fact that his dislike for the man caused a bias towards John that he couldn’t control despite being completely aware of it. He knew he would have to set that aside and be completely objective, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Welcome to Philadelphia,” he said, handing Lucifer a bottle of water as he walked in. “Long time no see. Please have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Lucifer declined the bottle of water. “Brought my own, thanks.”

“Alright. Let’s get down to business, then. What brings you here?”

Lucifer looked nervous, which was unusual. “I’m convinced that one of John’s informants stole personal information from our databases and provided it to John for distribution.”

“Okay. What’s convincing you?”

“Our IT experts traced the listserv posting to a 10-block radius in Santa Monica. Within that radius is the Insurrectionists headquarters.” He pulled out a notebook full of papers and handed one over to Michael. “I’d like to ask that the FBI verify this information.”

Michael studied the map, then looked up. “You said your IT experts already traced it.”

“Well, I’m hoping you have the technology to narrow it down further. Those ten blocks happen to contain hundreds of offices and homes.”

“Right.” Michael took the cap off the bottle of water he had offered, and drank some himself. “You already know we have that technology.”

Lucifer nodded, but he didn’t seem smug or victorious about any of this. Reluctant, almost. Michael was intrigued by this remarkable change in his behavior since their last meeting, but he forced himself to stay business-like.

“May I ask why you’re in such a hurry to turn it over to us? You haven’t even finished your own investigation yet.”

“The Opportunists are not framing John. I know he’s accusing us, but under oath I will tell you that’s not the case. I have nothing to do with this. The public, however, might not feel the same.”

“Ah. I see. You’re worried that public opinion is going to turn against you, and you’re trying to prove your innocence before they have the chance.”

“Yes.”

“Which, in turn, means proving John’s guilt before he has the chance to pin it on you.”

“Yes.” Lucifer thought of the tape in his briefcase but left it alone for now; he needed more leverage first.

“Okay. So...you came here to ask for my help in what, exactly? Besides trying to find the exact location of the listserv posting.”

Lucifer shifted in his chair. “I have no doubt his agents have done harm within my organization, and that he’s entirely responsible for this data leak. That’s what I want to focus on. But I want to make it a civil matter, not criminal.”

“You can’t once the FBI is involved. You know that.”

“I’m asking you to make an exception.”

“Why? If you’re so convinced he’s guilty, then-”

“Because I don’t want his kids to become indentured servants, that’s why,” Lucifer interrupted irritably. “That law is bullshit and should have never passed. We both fought it, and somehow we lost. I’m not going to let him just...just tell me, can you make an exception, or not?”

 _Oh, this is different_. A tender side of Lucifer that Michael never knew existed.

“We might not have to make an exception. The boys have another legal guardian. If John is convicted by March 31, Castiel likely gets custody of them. The old law allows for that if the guardian has been in place for over five years, which he has. After April 1, the courts have to approve him, and I doubt they will. Especially if he’s tied up in this whole mess, or implicated in any way. I can’t predict what will happen.”

“So we need to do this today.”

“Yes. I can order his arrest as early as tomorrow if you have definite proof of any felony that he committed. That should leave enough time to get it wrapped up by March 31.”

Lucifer was floored. “You’re trying to rush a trial for him? One that might not leave enough time to look at all the possibilities.”

Michael nodded. “Therein lies the problem. I’ve been busting my ass trying to find something to help, but right now it’s all just a waiting game.”

Lucifer stood up and started to leave. “We’ll go to civil court, even if I can’t prove a damned thing. Forget it. Thanks for your time.”

“ _Lucifer_.”

“What?” he snapped.

“Just because you’re taking it to civil court doesn’t mean we’re going to drop our criminal investigation of all the other charges. If you prove your case there, it’s going to be proved here. Possibly too late.”

That gave Lucifer pause. “So...what are you telling me to do?”

“I want you to tell me the truth. Do you have hard evidence that John committed a felony?”

_Destroy the tape. This is not worth it. John was just joking._

Michael saw the flash in Lucifer’s dark eyes, the affirmation couched in denial. “No.”

“I don’t believe you,” he replied calmly. Quietly.

Lucifer scoffed. “Well I guess we’re at an impasse, aren’t we?”

Michael let a warning tone slip into his next words. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression you were trying to help John. My mistake.”

“I am! And rushing into a trial is not the way to do it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And you should keep in mind that, as the aggrieved party, you would have the right to benefit from a plea bargain that might include being able to obtain the deed to his children.”

“Oh, right. John Winchester is going to waive his right to a trial, say he’s guilty, and turn his children over to me while he traipses off to prison. What kind of drugs are you on? What the hell would I even do with his kids, for god’s sake?”

Then...the bombshell. Michael looked him straight in the eyes and didn’t waiver. “Deeds are transferable to any free adult, Lucifer. It wouldn’t require the approval of a court.”

That startled the man, and the sudden realization of what Michael was secretly telling him to do seemed to hit him like a ton of bricks.

“You want me to...you…holy shit. He’s going to get convicted anyway, isn’t he? You already have him, but you can’t move fast enough.”

Michael fought to hide the relief he felt that Lucifer was figuring it out on his own, and he completely ignored the question since he had no authorization to confirm such a thing.

“You really should educate yourself better in these matters if you’re thinking of pressing ahead. I would recommend pages 561 through 567 of the Courts & Law review from 1992. Might help you see things more clearly and aid in your decision. I’ll have some copies made for you.” He reached over to his intercom button and instructed his secretary to pull out the book and copy the pages for his “guest.”

Lucifer left with no further comments, and Michael suddenly felt like crying. He desperately needed anything he could get to convict John as quickly as possible, and he had done the best he could to force Lucifer into seeing it, too. But he was afraid that Lucifer wasn’t imaginative enough to read between the lines and see the full potential of their options. That he could transfer the deeds to Castiel. Had he understood?

Bela came out from behind the door of the listening room. “Jesus. That was an unexpected turn of events. I got what you were implying right away, but did he?”

“I’m not sure. I could see the gears turning, but the light bulb dimmed there at the end. At any rate, I failed. He didn’t leave his proof. I’m guessing I’m out of a job now, too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

The intercom lit back up again, and Michael punched it irritably. “Yes?”

“Sir, Lucifer is asking to come back in for a moment. Said he left his phone on your desk?”

There was nothing there. “Yes, he did. Tell him to come in and get it.”

Lucifer walked back in a minute later, and his eyes got wider upon spotting Bela. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s okay. What’s up?”

“I assume you were listening,” he said to Bela, who nodded.

Lucifer put his briefcase on the desk and unlatched the sides. “I just have one more question for you both.”

“Yes?”

“Would I be able to negotiate the boys out of indentured servitude altogether?”

Bela answered. “No. The current law is that if John gets convicted in a state court, the minimum indenture for them is 20 years.”

“Until March 31, you mean.”

“Correct. After that...it’s for life.”

“With castration at 16, and all that fun, wholesome stuff.”

Bela crossed her arms. “We didn’t write the laws, Lucifer, and I can certainly assure you Michael and I don’t agree with them. But yes, that is true.”

“Can you guarantee we can get this done by March 31?”

“If John agrees to the plea bargain, yes.”

Lucifer opened his briefcase and handed Michael the tape.

“Then I would like to press criminal charges against John Winchester in the state of Colorado.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, turns out Lucifer does have a soft side. But does it last? Next chapter soon.
> 
> Thank you for reading, please leave a comment xoxo


	53. The One in Which John Can't Resist Poking the Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows previous chapter

\---------------

**FBI HQ - Philadelphia**

**Same day**

“I don’t know, Bela, this whole thing still rings false to me. I can’t accept it.”

Michael was miserably reviewing the latest transcript of the call from their mystery informant, the same one who claimed John Winchester paid him to murder Ruby. He hated being back to this same dreary subject. The tape Lucifer had given him today wasn’t the solid proof he had hoped for; no, that was a differently felony altogether and made exactly zero difference to this particular investigation. The meeting with him had led to nothing more than the same number of unanswered questions they had started with, to everyone’s deep frustration.

Bela cleared her throat and rearranged her desk needlessly for the fifth time this afternoon.  “Me either, but you know we have to stay objective. If we don’t track down this caller, we’re never getting anywhere. No clues yet at all?”

“No. I don’t understand it. Why is he playing us? What does he have to gain by staying anonymous? I mean, hell, he could easily hide behind the Whistleblower Act and gain our protection rather than incriminating the hell out of himself. This is like putting together a puzzle that’s missing all the edges. I mean...look at this part.”

_Winchester called me several times in the days before Christmas on a temporary phone I purchased just for this job._

Michael sat up a little straighter, his heart pounding again. He didn’t want to believe it, but he could hardly dismiss the connection without comment. “Those might be the three calls on the phone records we audited. You know, the ones we asked him about?”

“Yes. The number with a Denver area code that was deactivated the day _after_ Christmas?” She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out the binder. “If this caller can verify the number, we can verify him and this whole shady story.”

“He’ll never give it to us. He’ll think we can track down where he bought it, and therefore identify him. Not a chance.”

“But we can’t. We’ve tried already, you know that.”

“But _he_ doesn’t know that. Bela, I think we should let him know we have the number, and tell him we can find him.”

Bela stared at Michael uncomprehendingly. “Why? Wouldn’t that scare him off?”

“We should also tell him we now have surveillance video of the person who purchased the cashier’s checks.”

“Why?” Bela repeated.

“To force him into shitting or getting off the pot. Excuse the expression. All he’s done is just throw tidbits at us and disappear. Maybe we can scare him into giving us everything all at once, so we can get this thing damned thing settled before the 31st.”

Bela shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no. We’re not going to resort to scare tactics. That’s an old United States tactic, and we’re not that anymore. We’re better than them.”

Michael scoffed. “ _Better._ Right. This waiting game is bullshit, Bela. You know it is. We have to move _now_. Christ, with the surveillance video coming back on Thursday we almost have everything we need except for this asshole’s identity! All we need to do is confirm he really does work for the Insurrectionists, and this conviction is certain. That’s it. And we have less than two weeks to do it before...”

He didn’t have to say anything else; they both knew what was at stake.

“We wouldn’t be in this position if that March 1 vote hadn’t passed. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to resort to lower ourselves to scare tactics. Let’s try something else,” Bela suggested, ignoring Michael’s insolence. “John’s convinced that Uriel is behind this, right? And he doesn’t think this person actually works for him, but is just a go-between?”

Michael nodded. “He has zero evidence, though. And so do we.”

Bela smiled a little. “I’m willing to look further into the possibility anyway. Let’s stop by Denver on the way to Los Angeles. If Uriel shits a brick upon hearing that we have _two_ videos of our suspect as well as tracking down his phone number, we’ll know he’s involved.”

Michael grinned, approving of the plan, but...“That’s pushing it awfully close to Monday. We’re going to run out of time.”

“Alright. Then we’ll go tonight and meet Lucifer in the morning, and John in the afternoon. Get packed.”

\------------

**Winchester House**

**Tuesday night 6pm**

If any moments in John’s life had ever seemed impossible to overcome, they were now deemed inexpressibly easy compared to answering the phone when Michael finally called with the news about what Lucifer wanted. He felt as if his arms were suddenly made of lead, and the ringing was as loud as cannonfire in the confines of his study. After several long moments of pondering whether he and the boys could get away with sailing off into the wild blue yonder and disappearing, he ruefully dismissed the idea and turned bodily around in his chair to yank the phone out of its holder.

“Hello Michael.”

“Hello John. Got a minute?”

“Just one minute? Seems like I have the rest of my life in your hands.”

Michael hesitated, then declined to acknowledge the bitter sarcasm. “I’m really sorry to tell you that both Lucifer and the FBI are moving forward with criminal charges. I’ll have to arrest you on Monday. I’m sorry.”

John counted to ten before he responded. He had never expected to be having a conversation like this, not in a million years, but here he was. Here _they_ were.

“I see. Why didn’t he just pursue a civil lawsuit?”

 _Because I made him do this, and I hate myself for it._ “We’ll talk more later. I’m quite limited in what I can say right now.”

“Alright. Guess I’m flying to Philadelphia on Sunday night, then.”

“No, anytime Monday is fine. Just arrive before midnight. Listen, I’ve been speaking to Bela about this whole thing for a couple hours after Lucifer left, and she’s insisted on interviewing Castiel and Gabriel first. We’re actually on the way to Denver in about two hours, and tomorrow afternoon I’ll need to meet with you all in Los Angeles. Separately, of course.”

Alarm prickled along the hairs of John’s neck. “What are you going to ask them?”

“Anything within our due diligence, John. We have to. You know that.”

“They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Never said they did.”

John gulped down the last of his whiskey, but didn’t even realize he was doing it. “What time?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe 2pm.”

“What are the charges, exactly?”

Michael took a deep breath. “They’ll be detailed in the official subpoena I’m bringing tomorrow.”

“Super. Can’t wait.”

Michael paused, hating everything about every word on this conversation. He would give anything to be calling just to bitch John out about something stupid, like he had so many times before. A dumb, childish infraction that wouldn’t lead to such a drastic end.

“There’s one last thing for now. As of this moment you’re officially prohibited from contacting any member of Lucifer’s team for any reason, by any method. If you even try it, you’ll get nailed for contempt. So just don’t.”

“Hmmm. Would that be a felony in this context?”

“No, but it won’t help your case in any way whatsoever.”

John shrugged, the gesture unseen by his conversation partner. “Fair enough. I have no idea what I’d say, anyway. Can Castiel or Gabriel talk to them?”

“Not at the moment. After Monday, yes.”

Another pour and drag of whiskey, and suddenly his mood turned from somber to downright foul. “Peachy. This night just keeps getting better. Are we done?”

“Yes. There’s no need to be rude to-”

John hung up the phone and immediately hit his intercom button to staff quarters. He had one more weekend with the boys was suddenly determined to make the most of it.

“Chuck, report to my study on the double. Bring a notepad.”

\----

“Yes, sir?”

“Arrange for the boat to be transferred to Dana Point on Thursday or Friday, and then have it ready by 10am Saturday for a day sail. I’ll send you a shopping list to you soon for food and drinks. You can come with us or not, your choice, but either way I need you down there getting everything set up before we go. Sorry to butt in on your weekend.”

“That’s alright, sir.”

“Secondly, reserve 3 hotel rooms Saturday night at the Ritz-Carlton in Laguna Niguel, tickets for Disneyland on Sunday, as well as lunch and dinner reservations at Club 33. We’ll also need the usual cast member escorts.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cancel the banquet for Sunday. Let the hotel know we’ll pay them anyway since it’s late notice.”

“Yes, sir. You’re skipping-” Chuck stopped himself; it wasn’t his place to ask, even though every fiber of his being wanted to protest. The media would tear John apart as a heathen come Monday if he didn’t go to church. The only time they didn’t was when he was down with the flu recently, in which not a single whiny protest was lodged in the papers thanks to Gabriel’s strongly worded request to the press.

“No, we’re not skipping church,” John replied to the unasked question, apparently unperturbed for once by Chuck’s nosiness. “We’ll go to Crystal Cathedral since Sam’s always wanted to see it, and head to Disneyland afterwards. Lastly, the servants don’t have to return home until Monday at three, including you, so reschedule the bus.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks Chuck, that will be all for now.”

The man left, and John wearily hit the intercom button again. “Benny. My study, please.”

While he waited for his guard, John had about two minutes to wonder what in the hell he was going to tell Sam and Dean. No matter how he did it, the boys would be inconsolable. What fresh hell for poor Dean, who couldn’t even see his own house on television without having a fit. The poor kid would probably end up hospitalized again, and there wasn’t a damned thing John could do about it.

_Knock, knock._

“Come in.”

Benny carefully entered, still wary and wounded from having been thoroughly dressed down for saying in front of Sam that John should have been at the hospital with Dean instead of at the office. He knew he deserved it and fully understood the reason for it, but that made it no easier to swallow. John had a ferocious way with words when he was angry, and some of his more choice phrases were still ricocheting painfully around Benny’s consciousness.

John was calm and almost friendly, however. That was unusual, considering his incredible penchant for holding grudges longer than was reasonably acceptable. “I realize you have planned time off next week, so I would like to take Devereaux with me to Philadelphia on Monday. We might have to stay for a while.” _Maybe years, in my case_.

“I can go, boss,” Benny said quickly, not wanting to cause any drama. “My days off start on Thursday. If we’re back by then, it’s fine.”

“We might not be,” John quietly responded after an awkward silence. “I can’t really say why.”

 _Oh, shit...he’s done it now_. “Then I should go with you.  I’ll change my plans. Don’t worry, sir.”

John looked immensely relieved, which perked up his guard somewhat. “Thank you. We’ll also be going on a weekend trip. More details later. I have a lot to do tonight, so forgive me for being vague. You can go.”

Benny ignored the dismissal and stepped forward, taking a deep breath. “Speaking of forgiveness...I sincerely hope you’ve forgiven me for what I said in front of Sam.”

John looked away and rifled through a binder that was laying out on the credenza. “I’d be lying to you if I said I did,” he responded, not unkindly. “But I am trying.”

Benny took another deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say next. “John, when you summoned me to your office I was busy shuffling through the live camera feeds.”

That got John’s full attention again; he turned around in his chair. “And?”

“You know that I don’t like to get the boys in trouble, right?”

“Yes, I know. Worst part of your job, you’ve said a thousand times. What’s happened?”

It was true. Benny hated this part of his job. Hated it more than anything else in the world, but he had no choice. This is what he was paid for and had agreed to do. “Dean snuck out of his room and he’s in the pool house.”

John didn’t have to ask what his son was doing. He knew without question.

The intercom lit up, interrupting the conversation. John punched the button irritably.

“Mr. Novak is here, sir,” said Devereaux, who was stationed in the guardhouse.

“I assume you let him in?”

“No, sir. Waiting for your permission.”

Benny nodded approvingly; Devereaux was learning fast after several early faux pas that had drawn his new boss’s ire.

“Good,” John said, approving of the caution as well. “Send him up. Thank you.”

John turned back to Benny. “Thank you. We’ll talk some more tomorrow.”

“Shall I tell Dean to-”

“No,” said John decisively as he stood up to go deal with this latest mess. “I’ve got it, and I won’t mention who was watching the cameras. Thanks.”

\----

“I’m sorry, Cas,” John said grumpily as he returned to his study to his waiting friend and slammed the door behind him. “Had a slight issue with my oldest.”

“Is he alright?” Cas asked with true concern, and not just out of courtesy.

John stopped himself from rolling his eyes in frustration. “Dean is not allowed to watch the news without me. One guess as to what he was just doing?”

“I have no idea,” Cas replied seriously, and John gaped at him.

“Watching the news. Really, Cas?”

“Oh. What did you do?”

John sat down hard. “What I had to do. The kid disobeyed a direct order; he knew what to expect. Have you made up your mind about the guardianship issue?” he barked without intending to. Castiel looked aghast at him, and John flushed.

“Sorry. Way to launch right into business, right? Forgive me. It’s been a hell of a day. Let me rephrase. Have you made a decision regarding my request to take guardianship of the boys if something happens to me?”

Cas nodded. “Of course my answer is yes. It was never going to be anything else.”

“Really? Could have fooled me,” John muttered bitterly.

Castiel sat down in John’s guest chair. “Is something wrong, John? Besides Dean, of course. You seem unusually-”

“Is anything right?” John interrupted. “I’m going to Philadelphia on Monday. In the afternoon, specifically.”

“Why? Were you summoned?”

John tensed, not wanting to tell Cas the truth yet, but not wanting to lie to him, either.

“Not yet. Cas...we need to have a serious talk. I don’t know if right now is the time to do it, but I don’t see how waiting is going to make this easier. Just be honest with me. What was the real reason you held back those receipts for so long?”

Castiel took the bottle of water John offered. “You told me to never tell you.”

“I’m asking you now. It’s important.”

“I’m not going to answer,” Castiel replied calmly as he took a drink. “Per your orders, if you don’t recall. You were adamant.”

“And why do you think that was, exactly?”

“Because then you would have to tell the FBI, and I’d get in trouble.”

John felt like his world was spinning suddenly. “Fine. Then just answer yes or no: did you hold back because you didn’t want it to cause bad PR and influence the vote?”

Castiel stared at him coolly, expression unreadable. The guess wasn’t exactly correct; he had only done it to keep John focused, not to distract the voters. But either way, the desired end result was essentially the same. Cas had seriously messed up, but he sincerely had not realized it until this moment. How much he had put John’s career in jeopardy with his good intentions.

“No comment.”

“Okay, let me put it this way. If that’s what you did, for god’s sake, _don’t_ tell anyone that. Attempting to influence the vote with something like that could be considered a felony. Do you understand me?”

“Loud and clear.”

John paused breathlessly, seeing a rare burst of fear that crossed Castiel’s eyes for a fraction of a second like a shooting star. “ _Fuck._ You did. I knew it. You’ve been around Gabriel too long. Jesus, Cas.”

Castiel took another long draw of water. “Is Michael going to interview me?”

“Yes he is. Tomorrow.”

“John, you of all people should know I’m not going to let you take the fall for something I did.”

John stood up and walked to his window, frustrated beyond description. “No. I am literally ordering you to keep your trap shut about the vote, understand me?”

Castiel cocked his head like a quizzical beagle. “You can’t order me around, John. I’m the one in charge now.”

John froze, his heart in his throat. Coming from anyone else, that remark would have been an egotistical, hurtful, even threatening statement. Coming from Castiel, however, it was simply the truth watered down to its barest element. He regularly made stark observations like this without any ulterior motives or malice, a fact which usually comforted John. This time, it didn’t. He felt like breaking anything within reach suddenly, but managed to keep himself still.

“Right. Cas, you should leave before I lose my temper and say things I’m going to deeply regret.”

“I’m not afraid of your temper. Besides, isn’t there something I have to sign in regards to Dean and Sam?”

John had forgotten all about it; now he seethed impotently as he returned to his desk and pushed the thick packet over.

“This is to accept the responsibility for handling my estate and take over complete guardianship of my sons. I’m leaving everything to you. All my property and finances, too.”

Now it was Castiel’s turn to freeze in horror. “John. No. I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.” He tapped the cover of the bound pages. “ _This_ is why you can’t be guilty of a felony. Because then you’ll have _nothing,_ and neither will the boys. This is for them, not you. Now do you understand me?”

Castiel looked down. Horrified, but calm. “What am I supposed to tell Michael, then?”

“That you held back because you were afraid of confronting me after what happened at Christmas. I’m a tyrant, everyone knows that. Play that up and he’ll be fine. It’s what I already told him.”

Castiel could not meet John’s eyes suddenly. “You’re not a tyrant, and I’m not agreeing to that or signing this until you answer one simple question.”

“What?”

“Are you going to Philadelphia on Monday to be arrested?”

John picked up his whiskey bottle again. “I thought you said it was a simple question.”

“Are you?”

“Look, anything could happen between now and then. I’m just being practical and cautious.”

Castiel didn’t back down. “Answer the question, John. Without drinking that entire bottle first, if you don’t mind.”

John hesitated, then swallowed another mouthful and nodded as he locked eyes with Cas. There was a very long silence between the two friends.

“When were you planning to tell me this?” Castiel finally asked, astonished.

“Give me a break, Cas. I just learned about it less than hour ago and I’m still in disbelief.”

“I’m sorry. What evidence do they have?”

“I don’t know yet. Enough, apparently. I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” John added sullenly, hating himself for being so outwardly cold toward the man who was trying to save him and his sons. Although it made sense since part of him, John realized reluctantly, resented Castiel for getting him into this mess in the first place by holding back the damned receipts.

_Another long silence._

“Well, we need to talk at some point. Like tomorrow morning. Now everything you’ve been saying lately makes sense. Give me the pen, please.”

John didn’t comply yet. “Wait. What are you going to tell Michael about the receipts?”

“Whatever you want, as long as it keeps you from taking the blame. Pen?”

Now John handed it over. “Thank you. Just know that there’s no one else I would trust more to do this for me.”

Castiel nodded. “There’s one more thing. I don’t think you should send the boys to Maui.”

“Why not?”

“I want them with me,” Castiel insisted.

“You’ll be at work. That makes no sense.”

“It makes a hell of a lot more sense than sending them away and disappearing, and leaving Amelia to deal with the aftermath. She doesn’t know them as well as I do.”

John almost immediately launched into to a protest, but then he remembered something crucial: Castiel’s own father had left the family without a trace years ago. John backed off immediately, knowing what a sensitive and painful subject that was for his dear friend. He suddenly had no desire to inflict the same agony upon his own sons.

“You’re right. She won’t know how to handle Dean. Can they stay with you next week? I’ll have Chuck connect with you guys and do all the shopping, and Chef can come by and do the cooking.”

“Or I can just stay in your house. It will be less disruption for the boys, and more private.”

“Yeah. Good idea. If you don’t mind, let’s just do that for as long as necessary.”

“Any idea how long that might be?” Castiel prodded anxiously.

“Anywhere between one day and forever, I guess,” John said offhandedly as he tore open a huge bag of peanut M&Ms.

Castiel stared aghast at him, the serious of the situation suddenly cloaking his heart in a frozen, tangible heaviness.

“For god’s sake, John. It seems an odd choice to be so flippant about this.”

“I can either be flippant, or I can be hysterical. Let’s just try to stay positive, okay?” John replied quietly, mouth and hands full of chocolate. “Want some?”

“No, thank you.”

Castiel turned back to the packet with a deep sigh and quietly signed the papers. Much to John’s relief, he didn’t notice the clause that automatically turned custody of the boys and all his property and finances over to him at 11:59pm on March 31 if John wasn’t free by then.

A few minutes later the enormous deed was done, and both men didn’t know what to say to each to other.

“Thanks, Cas,” John managed, heart lodged firmly in his throat. "Want to stay for dinner?”

 “I would like to, but my appetite is completely gone and I'm fairly certain you wouldn't enjoy my company right now. Thank you, though. Can we please talk in the morning?”

“I'm busy until noon or so. I’m sorry that I’ve been keeping you out of the loop. My four informants are meeting me here in the morning. It’s crucial that their identities are protected, so I have to keep you out of it.”

Castiel shrugged. “You don’t think Lucifer will suddenly notice four of his people have disappeared from the office in the same week you recalled your agents? They won’t stay secret for long.”

“You’re right. But I’d like to just talk to them alone, okay? I’ll fill you in later and give you names so we can relocate them to our office. Call me at noon.”

“Alright. Goodnight, John. I implore you not to give up yet. We’ve still got a long way to go with our investigation.”

John nodded. “I know. Thank you. Um, on another subject altogether, do you remember that code to dial when you want your caller ID to be blocked?”

“I think it’s star six seven. Why?”

“I just want to make a quick call to a restaurant but don’t want my number to get out again. Thanks."

Castiel left, and the moment the door shut, John snatched up his phone and dialed Lucifer, taking care to block his number first.

\---------

**Denver, Colorado**

Lucifer usually never answered unknown callers, but cell service at the Denver airport was infamously spotty, and with his lack of technical savvy he thought perhaps some kind of signal weakness was preventing the number from coming through. He did make sure not to say his real name, however...just in case.

“Hello?”

“Hi, handsome. How’s your day been?”

“Who is this?”

“Who do you think?” answered the gruff voice on the other line.

Lucifer found himself breathless all of a sudden as he got into his car on the tarmac. “Ah. If you’re calling to threaten me again-”

“Not at all,” John replied easily. “On the contrary, I’m calling you with a friendly reminder.”

“You’re not in the position to be reminding me of anything right now, _friend_.”

“Oh, I think I am. Code 314.3 of the political integrity code prohibits our parties from releasing names of our own employees, as well as those of each other’s parties. Speaking of which, you’re going to be missing four people at roll call tomorrow. Just wanted to give you a head’s up.”

Lucifer felt his throat go dry. “Your informants, I gather.”

“Right on. As a _friend_ , I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get your little hands slapped for doing something so silly and preventable like publicizing who they were to anyone outside the need-to-know group.”

“Duly noted.”

“Good, good,” John answered, his tone obnoxiously chipper. “Well, you’re welcome. I’m looking forward to reconnecting with them tomorrow. No doubt they’ll have a lot to tell me about their time spent in your wonderful organization, so thank you for confirming you’ll help keep them safe. Have a nice evening.”

“John, wait-”

The line went dead.

\--------------


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows previous chapter

**Tuesday night, Winchester House**

“Well, that was a really stupid thing to do, jerk,” Sam said matter-of-factly after Dean finished explaining where he’d been and why his eyes were red, even though he did feel sorry for his brother in spite of it all.

Dean threw his hands up in frustration and flopped around on Sam’s bed to face the wall. “I knew you wouldn’t have any sympathy, bitch. I’m freakin’ sixteen years old, but he keeps treating me like I’m twelve!”

“More like five, but act like a dumbass and you’re gonna get your dumb ass whooped. It’s not rocket science.”

“Okay, Sam. You can stop now.” Dean didn’t say it, but he wasn’t mad about the consequences he’d just received; he was only indignant about being kept so isolated from the outside world. Furious about what he had just learned from the mouth of someone who didn’t even know him.

“Here he comes,” Sam said quietly, reaching over to mute his video game as the sound of a heavy footfall on the stairs made its way into the bedroom. Dean didn’t move, he only stiffened as John entered the room like a shark searching for his next prey.

“Dinner’s ready, boys. Sorry it’s late, I had to meet with Uncle Cas. Go downstairs,” John said tiredly, keeping his eyes on his oldest. Sam went, but Dean didn’t move, as John expected. He waited a long moment, then sat down next to him and rested his arm on Dean’s side, patting him reassuringly.

“Okay. You can stop pouting now, kiddo. It’s over and done with.”

“It’s not over,” Dean muttered.

“Excuse me? Did you not hear me say you’re forgiven?”

“But I haven’t forgiven _you_ yet. You said I could watch, then I couldn’t. You’re an Indian giver.”

John’s heart fell a little, and his resolve hardened even further as he took a tight grip on Dean’s forearm. “Don’t use that phrase ever again. It’s racist. And I thought you understood where I was coming from in regards to the news. Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Please don’t,” Dean grumbled as he shifted his weight around into a somewhat more comfortable position. “Or else I’ll be forced to poke out my own eardrums, I swear.”

John held back a snigger. Dean had a tendency to be unintentionally amusing when he was this pissed, which was doubly unfortunate because also he hated being laughed at. Especially when he was angry. It was a fine line to tread, so John tried to inject some lightness into his tone without going overboard.

“Well, we don’t want that, it’s messy. I won’t say a word. What did you learn from your little expedition today, then? Any juicy news about myself that I should know? I mean, sometimes Meg knows what’s up before I do, so maybe you can give me a briefing of what’s going on in the life of John Winchester.”

“Don’t know. I only got to watch like five minutes before Benny narced on me.”

“What did you learn in those 5 minutes?”

Dean hesitated, not knowing whether his dad was baiting him or genuinely trying to find out what the headlines were. His tone was bitter when he finally answered. “The Santa Anas are blowing.”

John glanced out the window automatically; it was pitch dark but he could easily imagine his palm trees tipping over quite a bit from the infamous windstorms that periodically sapped the sanity out of Los Angeles residents for days at a time

“Air moves sometimes. Huh. Who would’ve thought?” John was secretly relieved; that meant he wasn’t at the top of the ticker for once. _But not for long._

“That really hurt, dad,” Dean complained in a mumble as he rubbed his backside; his efforts to dull the sting becoming more fruitless with each passing minute.

John was not sorry, not one bit. “It was supposed to. Kiddo, you knew exactly what was going to happen the moment you turned on that television. Did you really expect me to go easy on you when we’ve been though this twice before? Stop pouting and come down to dinner.”

“I’m not eating again until you let me watch the news on my own.”

“Since when did you start giving me ultimatums? I don’t think so.” He gripped Dean’s shoulder as he stood. “Attitude ends now. Up. I won’t tell you again. Food’s getting cold.”

\----

**Philadelphia Airport - Tuesday evening**

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” began Bella as she stuffed her carry-on suitcase into the overhead bin. “You’re exactly right. We need to ask our caller what that mobile phone number is. Or was, rather. I mean we already have it, right? So whether or not he gives it to us, he’s in the same boat as far as possibly being tracked goes.”

“I’m not following, sorry.”

Michael sat down in his window seat, glad for once that he didn’t have a stranger seated next to him all the way to Denver. He wanted to talk to Bella. Needed to talk to her and find any way out for John.

Bella dropped down into her seat and deftly snapped the seatbelt shut. “I mean we tell him we have the number, but unless he can confirm it’s the same one, we are no longer taking his calls seriously. When you think about it, that makes the tracking issue irrelevant.”

“Shit or get off the pot, like I said,” Michael answered wryly.

“Precisely. When he calls back, you have to ask him. Give him part of the number outright so he knows we’re not bluffing, and ask him to finish it. If he can’t, we simply won’t take his calls any longer. End of story, investigation over and whatever he’s trying to gain now is all lost.”

“Right. The problem is, I almost don’t want him to be able to verify it. That would mean he’s not lying.”

“I know,” Bella agreed glumly. “Just keep in mind that Ruby deserves justice, and it’s our duty to get it for her. Let’s just hope he calls back sooner than March 31.”

\-----------------

**Winchester House - same evening**

“Boys,” John said heavily, with a rapidly pounding heart as they finished off the last of their burgers. It had taken him almost half an hour to get up the courage to even address the matter at all. “I have to go to Philadelphia on Monday, and I’ll likely be there all week. Uncle Cas is going to come and stay with you guys here. I fully expect a glowing report of your perfect behavior when I get back.”

Dean’s eyes were wide, and he was frozen in a state of lifting a chip to his mouth. “You’ve never been gone that long. What’s going on?”

 _Tell him the truth._ “There are some meetings I have to go to,” he said with a dry throat, absurdly self-conscious of how stitled he sounded. “There’s also an investigation ongoing that I’m a part of, which requires me to answer and ask lot of questions. It will take time due to all the people involved.”

“An investigation about what?”

“My, my. Aren’t we demanding today? An investigation, period. That’s all you need to know for now.”

“I want to know everything,” Dean insisted stubbornly.

“Too bad,” John replied simply, cocking his eyebrows with a _don’t push me_ expression.

Dean put down his chip and stood up quickly; it reminded John of all the times Chuck had suddenly stopped in his tracks to wonder if he had unplugged something or another.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, puzzled.

“I don’t feel good.” He all but ran off, and John followed him to his room while Sammy remained seated in confusion, staring after them with a pickle hanging out of his mouth.

“Dean? What’s wrong with you?” John asked irritably as the boy dodged him several times on the stairs. He obviously wasn’t upset about his stomach. “Stop.”

Dean ran into his room and slammed the door, and locked it behind him. In the past, that would have caused John to all but blow a gasket. But he had his keys in his pocket, so he calmly took them out and opened the door. Dean was in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub with his face in his hands, and John shut the door and sat down placidly on the toilet next to him.

“Did the food make you lose your mind on top of making you sick? Don’t you ever slam the door on me again, much less lock it.”

“Mmmm,” Dean replied noncommittally, shoving his chin deeper down into his jacket.

After about thirty seconds of nothing but silence and heavy breathing, John had a feeling he knew what the real problem was and braced himself as he asked quietly, “The news. Was it really five minutes of talking about the Santa Anas?”

Dean didn’t answer at first, but he shook his head after some hesitation. _Fuck._

“Okay. Tell me exactly what you heard. It may not be accurate and you could be getting yourself all upset over nothing.”

“Yoone gaijins cical prisad cax aded.”

John reached up and pulled Dean’s hands away from his face. “I didn’t catch that. What?”

“Nothing,” the stricken teenager amended.

 _“Dean_ ,” John admonished, fighting back his own panic and dread. “It’s important to me that you get the truth directly from the source, rather than some half-assed reporters. What did you hear?

Dean ignored the question again. “If you really go to jail, does Uncle Cas become our new dad?”

John’s pulse started thudding painfully at his temples. “Don’t jump to conclusions, and please tell me you didn’t breathe a word of this to Sam.”

“Of course not. But does he?”

“Just try to relax. You don’t even have the facts yet. Tell me what-”

John watched aghast as his son turned and threw up in the tub several times. He patted him on the back reassuringly until he was done, then handed him a towel from the etagere. Dean snatched it out of his hands.

“I told you so,” Dean said frankly as he wiped his mouth. He was calm. Too calm.

“That you didn’t feel good? I’m sorry. I’ll go get you something for your stomach.”

“No. I meant...that you should have quit your job a long time ago. You wouldn’t listen.” Dean shook his head again. “You never listen.”

 _Ouch_. John stared at his oldest in consternation. “Dean, this is really not helpful. Are you alright? In any pain? Do you need to go to the doctor?”

The boy tipped his head against the wall, his eyes glassy and moist, staring at nothing. “No. I told you so,” he repeated softly. “I _knew_ it was too late.”

John rubbed his temples vigorously. This was all going to hell in a handbasket, and there was nothing he could do about it. No way to placate his son or make this any better. All he could do was acknowledge his increasing irritation at Dean for disobeying his orders not to watch the news. At least the boy’s color was coming back into his cheeks.

“Alright, you seem fine. You’re sixteen now, as you keep reminding me, so if you want to discuss this as adults then we should do it. I’ll tell you as much as I can. Let me know when you’re ready,”

Dean stood up a little shakily, but self-assured and confident, having collected himself admirably in record time.  “I’m fine, sir. I don’t need to talk, but thank you for the offer.”

“Right. Well, it’s only seven-thirty. Maybe you’ll change your mind. Do you have homework?”

“I already did it, sir.”

John fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Stop with the _sir_ thing, Dean. I hate when you resort to theatrics. I don’t want to fight with you, especially over something as important as this. Go do something constructive, or educational, or-”

“Something educational? Like watching the news?” Dean retorted mockingly.

John eyed him dangerously. “You’re one more smart remark away from me taking off my belt again, kiddo,” he warned quietly.

That was all it took to set Dean straight; he swallowed hard and forced himself back in check again. John saw the fight drain out of him instantly, his eyes soft again. _There, that’s better._

“Thank you. If you really feeling alright, go drink a glass of water. Then it’s bedtime and lights out. You need rest. We’ll talk some more tomorrow.”

“I’m fine.” Dean sighed as he went...but at least he went at all, John told himself.

This day was a fucking nightmare.

\---------------------

**Winchester House - Wednesday - 8:30am**

Dean was still nauseated and pale the next morning, so John let him stay home from school with the caveat that he was restricted to his room until 11:30am. That was because the informants arrived precisely as scheduled at 8:30, and John sat them all down nervously in the library and locked the door. Before saying a word, he walked around handed them all water bottles. They looked exactly as anxious as he felt.

“Welcome back to Los Angeles, team,” he said carefully as he sat down and pulled the cap off his favorite pen and flipped open his notebook. “You’ve obviously already realized your presence will be missed in Denver, but Lucifer’s been warned not to name names. At any rate, since you went under pseudonyms, nothing should happen even if he does. Thank you again for your services. No matter what happens in the next three hours, you are all guaranteed a full relocation package, a job in the organization, and compensation for your little side job. So let’s get to it and not waste any time. Mick, I’ll start with you since we’ve spoken most recently. What’s been happening in the legal department these days?”

The man cleared his throat twice before he could speak. “It’s been quiet, Mr. Winchester. Ever since Lucifer got his last warning and censure, he’s been stopping most litigation and offering settlements to almost everyone just to clear the slate. I don’t believe anything’s going to be pending that’s going to be of help to you right now. But I did happen to be one of three people who had access to the papers filed against you, and learned something interesting right off the bat.”

John sat up straight, forgetting all about writing anything down. “What’s that?”

“He’s got a...maybe we should speak in private?”

“No. I trust you all implicitly. Go ahead.”

“Yes, sir.” Mick opened his briefcase and pulled out what looked like maybe a couple dozen pages stapled together and looked around the room. “I...let’s just say I trust you all implicity, as well. We’ve been through a lot in the past seven or eight years. Anyway, I had a feeling we’d be recalled, so I took a copy of the attorney-client privileged draft complaint. It will help you mount your defense far ahead of the trial.”

John didn’t move, not that he could even if he wanted to. He cocked his head towards the back of the room. “There’s a shredder in the corner. Feed it in there, and leave this room. You should have never-”

“Sir, I haven’t read it myself, I just took-”

John’s voice was like ice and fire all at once. “Stop talking. You should’ve _never_ brought that here. I ought to turn you in myself. Come with me, please. Leave that facedown on the chair for a moment. Nobody touch it.”

Mick did, and stood up somewhat unsteadily as John led him directly across the hall and into his study.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Winchester. I meant well. Please don’t-”

“Did you make a second copy?” John interrupted quietly after he’d shut the door behind him.

Mick looked like he didn’t want to answer, but John asked again, and he nodded grimly. “Yes. It’s in a secret pocket in my briefcase.”

“Good. Shred the one on the chair in front of the others. I don’t care how much we trust them, we’re keeping this to ourselves. As you leave the house, place the other copy in the drawer of the side table by the front door. And even though I’m going to give you a big fat bonus for it, don’t ever do this again. Got it?”

Mick nodded, so they went back into the room, and he dutifully picked the papers back up and fed them into the shredder.

“Thank you, Mick,” said John coldly, resuming his authoritative demeanor and throwing eye daggers at the man. “We’ll pretend this never happened. Please confirm there are no other existing copies.”

“No, sir,” the man replied shakily. “You can look through my briefcase, if you’d like. In fact, please do so that there’s no suspicion later. It would make me feel a lot better.”

“I won’t, since it’s my ass on the line. Pamela, would you do the honors?”

Pamela obviously didn’t want to, but she complied and searched it thoroughly in full view of the others. Much to John and Mick’s relief, she did not find the hidden pocket.

“It’s clear, sir,” Pamela finally declared.

“Good. Then this incident is forgotten and forgiven. You may leave now, Mick.”

The man silently packed up his things while the others watched breathlessly. On the way out he muttered, “I’m sorry,” once more. Just loud enough for everyone to hear. John nodded approvingly, then looked around the room and took a deep breath.

“Alright. Don’t repeat his mistake, ladies. No more felonies in this room. If you have any, keep them to yourself. Who’d like to go next?”

\--------------

**Insurrectionists Headquarters, Los Angeles - 9am**

“Tell me you found something, Charlie. Anything.”

Charlie handed the report to Gabriel. “The number comes back as disconnected on December 26. It’s not traceable, unfortunately. I’ve been working on it for 16 hours straight and…nothing.”

Castiel took the report away from Gabe. “There’s _nothing_ we can do? At all?”

Charlie shook her head. “Maybe one day the technology will give us the ability, but right now it’s a dead end. The only option would be to check the surveillance footage of every single cell phone store in the 303 area code. There are 435 of them, and we don’t even have the time frame in which the phone was first activated. Needle in a haystack, gents.”

Gabe shrugged. “Well, maybe the FBI can figure it out. Let’s get back to work, then. Thanks, Charlie.”

\-----------------

**Opportunist Headquarters, Denver - 9:30am**

Bela carefully studied Uriel’s face and body language while Michael falsely claimed to have two surveillance videos on the subject, as well as a confirmed phone number and voice recording.

The big man didn’t show any signs of distress at the news. Not a single tell, nothing to indicate he was in the least bit alarmed at the suspect being unveiled. If anything, Uriel looked completely bored by the proceedings altogether.

 _He’s not involved,_ Bela silently concluded with sudden clarity and reluctance. Lucifer wasn’t responsible, either, that much was already certain. She knew with just one glance that Michael was thinking exactly the same thing based on Uriel’s lack of reaction:

_Fuck...what now?_

_\---------------------_

**Winchester House, 10am**

“Hey buddy,” Benny said as he rose from his desk when Dean came down the stairs. “You feeling any better yet?”

Dean was putting on his jacket and backpack. “I’m fine. Take me to Gabriel’s house.”

Benny looked at him askance. “No. You’re supposed to be in your room until 11:30. Back upstairs, and get a move on.”

“Or what? You’ll narc on me again?” Dean challenged rudely. “You used to like me.”

Benny tipped his head to the side slightly, willingly allowing the deep hurt and frustration he felt to show on his face and in his voice. He was simply done with this kid lately.

“You’re right, I used to like you. Back when you listened to me and let me help you out. I don’t feel bad about narcing on spoiled brats who disrespect me, though. Are you going back upstairs, or not?”

The deeply ashamed look on Dean’s face at this unprecedented outburst satisfied him immensely.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said hoarsely. “I don’t....I didn’t mean it.”

“Then go upstairs,” Benny responded sternly, worried that John would suddenly exit his library and come upon this little scene.

“Okay. Sorry.” Dean turned and ran back up the stairs. It wasn’t until he let out his breath that Benny realized he’d been holding it. Two hours later when he returned to his desk in the hallway, he was pleasantly surprised to find a brief thank you note from Dean on his keyboard. He read it, then glanced aside into the dining room, where the teenager was just sitting down to lunch with his dad. Dean was watching him, so Benny smiled a little and gave a thumbs up.  

Dean nodded and turned his attention back to his father. He was a good kid, Benny knew. Always had been.

\--------------------------


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows previous chapter. Bela & Michael are still in Denver to meet with Lucifer & Uriel.
> 
> We're speeding towards the execution now, and the threads are starting to come together in regards to how exactly John got himself in such a hot mess. Please feel free to ask me any questions you'd like.
> 
> Thank you all for hanging in there and reading, even though it's painful watching a man be so brilliant, but also his own worst enemy. I'm sorry.

**Wednesday afternoon**

**Opportunist Headquarters - Denver - 1pm CST**

Lucifer was eager to get this meeting over with, and not just because he hated the FBI. Michael, in particular, who always seemed over-eager to push his buttons. But this time it was Bela who was testing his patience with her long checklist of open-ended questions. They seemed to be almost near the end of list, much as Lucifer was near the end of his patience. He was also starving.

Bela didn’t seem aware of her interviewee’s desires whatsoever, and she persisted without pausing. “Next. You’re aware you have Insurrectionist informants in this specific office, I understand.”

“Had. Yes.”

“And if they become known, it’s against the law for you to release their names outside of a need-to-know...wait a minute. What do you mean, _had_? Past tense?”

Lucifer frowned. “John assured me there were only four, and they would be gone today and not replaced. We have exactly four employees missing today. He keeps his word, if nothing else.”

Bela could feel Michael’s eyes on her. “I see. When did you have this discussion, exactly? It’s strange you never mentioned it before.”

“Because I was waiting for you to ask. We talked last night, very briefly.”

“You called him?”

“No. He called me. Around seven-thirty, I think. Something like that.”

Bela tapped her pen on her teeth. “You’re certain about that?”

Lucifer pulled out his mobile phone, scrolled down to the “calls received” list, and handed it to her wordlessly. She looked at it, wrote something down, then handed the phone back.

“Thank you. So, you’ve figured out who the four employees are, correct?”

The man scowled and nodded. “Their identities will remain confidential, I assure you.”

“Excellent. Will you please excuse me for a moment? I need to confer with my colleague to see if there’s anything else we need to ask. Then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Certainly. Please use my conference room.” He stood up and opened a door for them, which led to a small conference room with no other doors. Very private, but they still walked over to the far side of the wall in an abundance of caution.

Bela whispered, “I thought you told John not to contact him?”

Michael flailed his hands in frustration. “I did, about an hour prior to him doing it. I even sent him an email shortly afterwards saying the same. He knew better.”

“Christ,” Bela muttered. “And Lucifer’s just sitting there, smug as a cheshire cat with that same knowledge. I’m going to strangle John.”

“Not if I get to him first.”

“So do you believe Uriel is involved with this whole payments business?”

Michael shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Based on his body language alone? No, I don’t. He didn’t...no. I saw nothing to indicate he has anything at stake here, other than obvious satisfaction at watching John go down. Makes my stomach turn.”

“John’s his own worst enemy, that much we can confirm right now,” Bela mused. “We still have to meet with him, as if this day isn’t bad enough. This is such a cluster fuck.”

Michael sighed. “Bela, I think we should ask about those four employees. What departments they were in, at least. If even one of them had access to all that leaked information, it could be damning. I’m hoping none of them did, but I’d rather know sooner than later.”

“You’re right. Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of.”

They went back in the room and sat down. Bela purposely didn’t touch her pen or notebook to ask the next question. “Lucifer...about these four employees. Were any of them high-level enough to have access to the information that got leaked about your 20 executives?”

Lucifer scoffed. “High level? Hardly. All four of them are administrative assistants. Unfortunately, one was assigned to the legal department and had access to some of the documents we filed yesterday in regards to the case against John. No doubt he’ll give him a heads-up on what they contain, if he didn’t just outright take copies of everything. The camera in the copy room happened to be strategically covered up in the past couple of days, and you know I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Despite his horror, Michael had to take a private moment to appreciate and admire the fact that John had managed to install not one, but _four_ assistants within the company. Not executives, as he had suspected. It was a brilliant stroke. After all, John himself was the one who single handedly brought the country to its knees while working as a lowly, underpaid office clerk for Uriel. He knew firsthand what kind of access to information these positions really had. And how no one would ever suspect their lowest-level employees could even wield such power.

Bela seemed to be thinking the same, but she kept the conversation on track. “Right. So to repeat the question, did any of them have access to the information that got leaked?”

Uriel answered for his boss. “Collectively, yes. Each of them had access to some part of it.”

“I see. So you seem to think they were working together. Were they close friends, by chance?”

Lucifer answered again. “How would I know? All of the secretaries hang out with each other. Birds of a feather and all. We have 34 assistants in total in this office. Well, 30 now, I suppose.”

“I see. There’s very little we can do without proof of an actual crime. Winchester has made it very clear in the past that he doesn’t pay for information, so whatever they provide to him is on their own terms, and there’s no law against being disloyal to your employer. But if you find any proprietary materials have been taken unlawfully, especially by that legal assistant, let us know immediately. Do you have any further questions for us before we take our leave?”

Lucifer looked at Uriel. “Will you give us a moment, please?”

Uriel scowled, but he complied and departed the room immediately. Michael and Bela held their breaths as Lucifer leaned back in his chair and studied them aggressively for a few moments.

“I want to be clear on something, just in case it’s been lost in translation. I don’t give a fuck about John Winchester after all the grief he’s given me in ten years. I’ve almost lost my job because of him how many times? But that doesn’t mean I’m taking any pleasure in watching this all go down. Even if he’s guilty as hell, this is not something that satisfies me on any level.”

Michael nodded. “We know. No one’s accusing you of enjoying this.”

“What I _do_ care about are his sons. I have children of my own, as you know. Are we going to be able to wrap this up by March 31, or not? Because you said we could, but this...this is taking us nowhere fast. I’m getting concerned that you might have misled me.”

Bela took a deep breath. “You were not misled, but that brings me to the next question. You have some work to do in regards to constructing your plea bargain. Why haven’t you started it yet?”

Lucifer scoffed. “There’s one small detail that you might have overlooked. How am I supposed to get John to agree to it if you won’t let me talk to him and explain my reasoning?”

“You won’t. You _cannot_ contact each other again, period. That’s the law.”

“What am I supposed to do, then? By the time I can talk to Castiel and Gabriel, _they_ won’t be able to speak to John, either. He’ll never agree to it, and I can’t exactly write in there what I’m planning to do with the deeds or else everyone will see right through this whole charade.”

Bela shrugged. “Then I suggest you choose your 3rd-party negotiator wisely. Someone John trusts would be a good start. That’s how you can get through to him after Monday.”

Lucifer all but threw up his hands. “Are you nuts? John would never trust anyone I’d be willing to name as my negotiator.”

“Figure it out. I can’t get involved in your strategy. We’re supposed to remain neutral, and that’s what I intend to do.”

“You…” Lucifer looked irate, but his voice was even. “You all but _forced_ me to do this. I didn’t want to take it this far. And now you’re just going to just leave and tell me to _figure it out_?”

Bela looked unmoved. “You made your bed, and now you have to lie in it. Nobody asked you to come to Philadelphia in the first place. Any further questions?”

“No.” Lucifer stood up, conversation over. “With all due respect, feel free to get the fuck out of my office now."

\---------------------------------------------

“That went well,” Michael muttered as they got in their car to go to the airport. “Can I ask you something? With all due respect, of course,” he added facetiously, in mock salute to Lucifer.

“Of course.”

“Why did you...why did you taunt him at the end? Maybe taunt isn’t the right word. I was just surprised that the conversation took such an ugly turn.”

“Unpleasantly surprised, I gather,” Bela remarked with a smirk. “You seemed to be upset with me.”

“Yes, actually. I feel like that did more harm than good. Do you mind letting me in on your reasoning, so that we’re on the same page?”

“Sure. It’s simple. I’d much rather have him pissed off at us than have him pissed off at John. Whose side do you think he’s on now?”

“Oh.” Michael smiled widely. “ _Ohhh_. Nice.”

“Right. What’s that saying you like so much?”

“Shit or get off the pot?”

“Yes. He hasn’t done a damn thing since we last talked on Monday. Bet you anything he’s already making a list of possible negotiators to help John, even as he’s cursing at our backs. I may have given him a stroke, but it was exactly what he needed to hear.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. Call John, if you don’t mind. Let him know we’ll be at the office by 2:30. I want to meet with Gabriel first, then Castiel. That will leave John for last and give us all the time we need.”

Michael pulled out his phone. “I’ll bet you a million bucks he coached Castiel on what to say to us about those receipts. Or rather, what not to say.”

“I don’t bet on bargains, sorry.”

\----------------------------

**Opportunist HQ - Denver - one hour later.**

“Bobby Singer. Lucifer here. Long time no talk. How have you been?”

Startled silence. “Holy...I mean, hello, sir. Fine, thanks. You?”

“Good, good. Listen, I need you to come to Denver to meet with me. I can’t explain over the phone. Are you available Friday? I’ll send my plane for you.”

“Yeah, uh...got some meetings to cancel, nothing major. Is everything alright?”

“Can you get to Richmond airport at...let’s say 6:30am? It’s a three-hour flight. That will put you in our offices by 8am my time, and we’ll make sure to get you back in time for dinner.”

“That works. Is there anything I need to prepare or read up on, or anything?”

“No. Just be at the Signature terminal as agreed. We’ll talk when you get here, but not until then. Understood? And obviously, this is extremely confidential. I’ll call your boss now to make an explanation for your absence.”

“Great, thanks. See you Friday.”

“Good. Thank you.”


	56. The Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows previous chapter.

**Wednesday afternoon**

**Winchester House**

As much as John wanted to eat lunch, his anxiety entirely prevented him from achieving that goal. He kept busy pushing his food all around his plate and not accomplishing much otherwise, except adding to his worries. Dean was in the same boat but John had never been the type of parent to insist that his children eat everything, or not waste food they were given; in fact he was quite the opposite and had a standing agreement that Chef could indulge them with whatever they wanted. Except for Sam’s sugar addiction, of course, which John kept under tight control. It was a wonder neither of the boys weighed 300 pounds at this point, but both of them were lean and generally made good choices.

“How are you feeling?” John asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Fine, dad, thank you.”

“Not hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Me either.” John poked at his chicken again and let his thoughts wander to the lawsuit papers in the side table. He couldn’t decide whether he should read the illicit document before or after he met with the FBI. If he waited, he couldn’t give away anything to indicate that he had them...which is what he was afraid of if he did read them in advance. But then again, knowing in advance what he was up against could help-

“Can I go to Gabriel’s house after this?” Dean queried.

“No.”

That was the end of that. Dean started to roll his eyes but stopped at his dad’s warning glance, and got up to take his dishes into the kitchen instead.

“Sit down, Dean.” His tone was telling, and the teenager took a deep breath as he complied.

“Dad, I really don’t want to talk right now. I’m sorry.”

John took a huge gulp of root beer. “Wasn’t asking you to talk. I have a meeting this afternoon that’s going to determine what happens come Monday. Honestly, at this point, I have no idea what the hell to expect. But I promise I’ll keep you in the loop, okay? I don’t want you watching the news because it’s going to scare the shit out of you. They love to exaggerate everything, and even lie outright, and you know that.”

“So I’ve heard.” Dean’s reply was obviously meant to be humorous based on his expression, which was not challenging, so John let it go without comment.

“I’m going to leave the house at two for the office, and I’m taking Benny with me. I trust you not to disobey me again.”

Dean looked down at his hands. “I won’t. What time will you guys be back?”

“Around six. Come to think of it...do you want to go see a movie while I’m gone?”

“Wow, dad. You’re letting me skip school to go to the movies? Are you feeling okay?”

“Just marvelous.” John stood up and folded up his napkin, and Dean followed suit. “I’ll tell Lisa to take you to the Cineramadome.” That was where the Winchesters were allowed to use the back entrance and go in and out of movies unseen. “Then I need to go to my study and prepare for this meeting.”

“Who are you meeting with?”

Raised eyebrow. “Dean.”

“You said you’d keep me in the loop,” Dean reminded him politely.

John sighed. “Right. I did. The FBI, and Gabe and Cas.”

He worried Dean would throw up again, but the boy merely nodded. “Okay. Good luck, dad.”

“Thanks, kiddo. Go change.”

John ventured downstairs to talk to Lisa, and stopped in his tracks when he saw she was watching the national news. Naturally, his own face was plastered onto the screen.

“Oh god,” he moaned as he walked in. She jumped up and grabbed the remote to mute it, as if she were just as forbidden to watch as Dean. But on the contrary, all the guards were expected to be on top of the latest whispers about their boss and they often had the news running all day down in the basement. Usually with the captions on so it didn’t drive them crazy.

“Sorry, sir,” she said, swallowing hard.

“That bad, huh? Put it back on. And I’ve told you a hundred times not to apologize for doing your job.”

He sat partially on her desk and braced himself for what he was about to hear.

- _expected to defend himself against what appears to be multiple charges laid by the Opportunists, the details of which we do not yet have. Sources from inside the party state that at least one indisputable felony charge is pending, and a statement from the FBI is still yet to be released. Calls made to Gabriel Angel, PR leader for The Insurrectionists, were not immediately returned. We’ll come back to this story as it develops._

The shot changed to the front of the house - or walls and roof, rather - where a news media truck was parked at the bottom of the driveway. John had seen the top of its satellite dish on his way down the stairs. He crossed his arms.

“That wasn’t too awful. What else were they saying?”

Lisa looked rather wild-eyed at the question. John never spoke about such things with his guards. Idle discussion amongst them about John’s work life was strictly off-limits if it didn't relate to security issues, with special consequences for those who engaged in outright gossip - as Benny had recently found out when John docked him an entire paycheck for his comments at the hospital.

“Well…” she hesitated, then shut her mouth tightly as Benny rounded the corner and came into the office, stopping in his tracks at the sight of John.

“Sorry, boss. Didn’t see you.”

“Stay. Welcome to the party,” John said wryly. “It’s okay, Lisa. Just tell me.”

“Badger News is saying you’ll be put in jail next week, but seem to have no idea why,” Lisa replied shakily. “It’s been breaking news all day, with no substance. Our local news hasn’t said anything. The Denver news is going a bit nuts with speculation, but again, nothing confirmed.”

Benny and Lisa both couldn’t meet his eyes, John noticed. He didn’t blame them. “They mention anything about me going to Philadelphia on Monday to be arrested?”

Both of them nodded hesitantly, but made no verbal reply.

John replied matter-of-factly, “What a historic occasion...first damned time they’ve ever told the truth. Whatever happens, your jobs are safe, so don’t worry. Castiel is going to stay with the boys while I’m gone, however long I’m gone. They’ll need you. End of story. Lisa, can you take Dean to the movies, please? Benny, I have to go to the office at two.”

“Of course,” they said together, and John made his exit abruptly, knowing he was being an ass by casually throwing out a shocking statement like that, but at least the incident made up his mind for him. He grabbed the papers out of the side table and made his way up to his bedroom with a newly hardened resolve.

\------------

**Uriel’s Car - Denver**

“Hey, Uriel. Sorry I took so long to call you back.”

“You shouldn’t be calling me at all now that you’re not working. How long did Winchester suspend you guys?”

Gadreel coughed in surprise, then amusement. “Suspend? That implies some kind of wrongdoing. We were place on administrative leave. Paid, may I add? So I’m doing a lot better than you right now.”

“Well it’s a damned good thing you didn’t go pick up those cashier’s checks yourself. FBI has the surveillance video.”

“Ha. Told you so. They can track anything. So what do you want me to do next?”

Uriel waited until someone passed behind his car and out of sight again before responding. “Not much you can do at the moment. How long are you kicked out of the office for?”

“No idea. And they’re probably going to poly us all before they bring us back. Hope I can pass it twice. It was hard enough not breaking a sweat the first time around. Hey...how did you know they have the video?”

“Just got out of a meeting with the FBI. They also have the number you paged John with. They’re all over him like white on rice, and he did exactly what I expected him to. Gonna have me a visit to see the man in jail, finally.”

There was a pause on the other line. “ _Finally_? How long have you been planning this?”

Uriel smiled to himself. “Twelve years? Ever since he first stabbed me in the back. I have stories, my man. Stories for days. Hard to believe it’s almost over.”

Gadreel bit the inside of his cheek. Something about this wasn’t right, suddenly. Everything was...perhaps very wrong, perhaps not. Maybe he was just being paranoid.

“I see. So this isn’t exactly all a business venture, then?” he asked lightly.

“All you need to know is that I’ve got more than enough cash to keep you going until it’s done. And I’ll be in touch again when I need something else.”

“Don’t you mean _we_?” Gadreel asked quickly. “You and Lucifer?”

“Of course.” Uriel started a little when he looked into his rearview mirror and saw Balthazar come into the garage. “Gotta go.”

There was no getting out of the man seeing him, so Uriel quickly pretended like he was looking for something in his glove compartment. Balthazar, of course, would never miss an opportunity to be nosy, and he walked right up to his colleague with a smug look on his face.

“Hoy there. Sorry to interrupt. You’ve got a private office for doing that kind of thing, you know. Unless you’re into the whole exhibitionism scene.” He waved his hands around in a suggestive fashion on that last part.

Uriel got out of his car. “Not my thing. Just looking for my phone charger.”

“Right. Well, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were up to no good out here.”

“But you know better, right?”

Balthazar smiled. He was no fan of Uriel, but he had to tread lightly due to his BFF status with Lucifer. “Of course. I’m off to lunch. Ta ta for now.”

\------------

**Insurrectionists HQ - Los Angeles**

“Mr. Novak?”

Cas hit his intercom irritably as he walked back into his office. “Yes?”

“Mr. Winchester on the phone for you. Says he’s been trying to call your cell.”

“Put him through.” He looked up at Gabriel, who had followed him in after they had just eaten lunch together. “Want to stay, or…”

Gabe wanted to do anything but stay, but his curiosity got the best of him. “Yeah.”

“Hey Cas. Did you get my email about the FBI coming to see you and Gabe at 2:30?”

“No, sorry. I’ve been at lunch.”

John huffed in annoyance. “If you’re going to ignore your cell, at least keep an eye on your damned emails. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for an hour.”

Castiel crooked an eyebrow at Gabriel. “I’m sorry, John. Gabriel is here with me. They’re coming at 2:30, you say?”

“Yes. Am I on speaker?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. They’re going to meet with you first, Gabe. Don’t even ask me what the questions are going to be like because I have no idea. It’s absolutely imperative that you don’t try to act like you’re hiding anything.”

Gabriel glanced at Cas, then back to the phone. “I have nothing to hide, John.”

“Yeah, I know. But you guys haven’t met Bela. If you hesitate on anything, or act like you’re trying to spin your answer, she’ll pick up on it and start to probe, and it’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch. Be honest and candid. Don’t fuck around with these guys even in the slightest. Cas, you remember what I told you the other day?”

The receipts. John had told him to lie, which was the opposite of what he was saying now. “Yes.”

“Good. I’m going to be at the office by 2:30 and we’ll talk some more then.”

“John, why aren’t we having our lawyers attend as well?”

John cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s the other reason I was calling. I just got off the phone with Jack, and I want him present in everything we do from here on out.”

Castiel scrunched up his nose. “Jack Kline? He’s too young. He’s...John, he’s brand new.”

“I agree, John,” Gabriel replied. “He’s still got that deer in the headlights look every time someone asks him even the simplest of questions.”

“Yeah. He also idolizes us all, and he’s hellishly smarter than he looks. Ever had a conversation with him? You’d be surprised how tough it is to keep up.”

“John-”

“Cas, I’ve decided on this, and you’re not going to change my mind. Everything we say from here on out, he hears. Got it? And don’t you dare tell me you’re _the one in charge_ again.”

Gabriel looked at Cas in surprise and mouthed, you said _that_? Castiel shrugged a little, then turned his attention back to John.

“Yes, I hear you. We’ve got it. See you at 2:30, then?”

“See you then. I’m leaving in just a few.” John hung up.

“Wow, Cas,” Gabriel said with a grin. “Way to take the ball and run with it. Was the water in his espresso machine even starting to cool off before you started pulling rank on him?"

Castiel ignored him and frowned. “Jack Kline? _Seriously_?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

John was of course fully prepared for everyone to be staring at him when he arrived back at the office, but it still threw him off a bit and he felt little more than an exotic animal on display at the zoo as he followed Castiel into a conference room.

“I won’t lie,” Cas said quickly as he shut the door. “Sorry, John.”

John sat down and leaned way back in his chair, crossing his hands over his belly. “Well. You have to, Cas. It’s official. I’m fucked.”

“What do you mean? What’s happened?”

John felt strangely calm under the circumstances. “Lucifer recorded me in a conversation that can only be construed as blackmail. The FBI has the tape. No jury in their right minds, Opportunist or Insurrectionists, would ever deem it otherwise. I’m looking at five years, minimum, no matter what happens with all the other charges.”

Castiel was nearly beside himself. “How could you...why would you...John, after all the…”

“I know. But what’s done is done. So you’re going to lie, and you’re going to get out of the implication that you fucked around with the news of those receipts in order to avoid alarming our constituents and influencing the vote.”

“That was never my intention!”

John huffed. “Fuck your _intention_. It doesn't matter. Perception is reality, and that's what you have to accept. Just like I have. Blackmailing Lucifer was never my intention, either. It came out as a sarcastic comment in a moment of anger, yet here I am. Nobody is going to believe that you-”

Castiel stood up to cut him off. “No, John,” he said firmly. “There’s got to be another way.”

John closed his eyes for a long moment. When they reopened, Castiel was deeply unsettled by the feeling that a stranger was staring back at him.

“If you don’t lie, I’m going to lose the boys for a minimum of 20 years, because you will _never_ be granted custody of them if you throw yourself onto your sword. You take yourself down, you take _them_ down, too. Do you understand me, or not? I’m not sure how much clearer I can possibly be.”

Castiel shook his head and stared at the floor, unable to accept what he was hearing.

“Cas?” John prompted. “You’re _going_ to lie, I don't care how much it pains you. Consider it a punishment for fucking up with those receipts. _Then_ you're going to take care of my boys and run this organization. That’s what you signed up for the other day, and I expect you to honor that agreement. Are you hearing me at all? Feels like I’m talking to a brick wall.”

Castiel walked around the conference table in silence, sliding his finger thoughtfully along the back of every chair.

“Need an answer, Cas,” John said a minute later. “By the way, Michael and Bella have no idea I’m aware of the tape, so don’t mention it.”

“What? Then how do you know of it?”

John hesitated. “I can’t tell you.”

Castiel threw up his hands in frustration. “For god’s sake, John. I can’t handle all of this right now. You know what? You ask too much of people sometimes. And this is...this is too much.”

“I know. I’m sorry for that. But right now, I just need a yes or no answer at the very minimum. Are you going to lie to them, or not?”

The conflicted man in his trademark trench coat looked away for a minute - which felt like hours to John - then finally caught John’s eye and nodded.

“Thank you,” John breathed out in relief.

Castiel turned and abruptly left the conference room without another word. John jumped when the door slammed, but he didn’t move to follow his friend. He just sat there, mindlessly twirling his wedding ring around his finger in silence for a full hour, until the expected knock on the door announced the arrival of Michael and Bela.


	57. Chapter 57

**Insurrectionists Headquarters**

**Wednesday afternoon**

“Hey guys,” said John casually as a file of downturned faces piled into the conference room. “Bringing the whole gang, huh?” He moved aside to make room for Gabriel, Castiel, Jack, Bela, and Michael around the table.

Michael shut the door behind him, but didn’t sit down.

“Hello, John. Sorry to visit you under these circumstances. Since you’re all here and in one room, I wanted to quickly go over what’s going to happen on Monday.”

“The apocalypse?” John joked, not caring about the astonished side glances he received from Gabe and Cas.

Michael didn’t react; he knew John well enough to understand that he turned to black humor when he was nervous. “At exactly noon we’ll send in an FBI tech to put a special tape across your office door that’s illegal to breach. You’ll have three hours _after_ that to send out a press release, or have a press conference if you prefer, before you need to go to the airport. I would suggest that Castiel release an additional statement immediately after your departure.”

No one on the room seemed to be breathing all of a sudden, except for John.

“Understood. That sounds...very humiliating.”

Michael swallowed hard. “It’s not meant to be. You’re not going to be dragged out in handcuffs. It’s literally just a guy in a suit who will be in and out in five minutes. You’ll go to the airport on your own, and travel with whoever you want. We have no intention of turning this into a spectacle.”

John smiled a little. ”Wonderful. I’m looking forward to seeing what the inside of a Philadelphia jail cell looks like. If they’re anything like the ones in Los Angeles, I’m in for a fun time. And probably dysentery.”

Confusion clouded Michael’s expression at that statement. “Wait, John. Back up. We’re not locking you up on Monday, for god’s sake.”

John heard Castiel and Gabriel finally breathe out together. “Oh. I thought...I mean, under arrest usually means ‘in jail’ to me.”

Bela spoke up at this point. “It doesn’t for you. You’re literally the most famous person in the nation, hardly a flight risk. We’ll let you stay in a hotel while the investigation is ongoing.”

“I don’t want special treatment,” John lied.

“Trust me, you do. Besides, it‘s not your decision. I do want to add that before noon Monday, your organization is to maintain your silence and not speak to the media or make any statements.” She looked around the room. “Mr. Novak, Mr. Angel, any questions?”

Castiel looked at John, but there was hardly any recognition in the glance. Cas was like a man defeated, and John knew it was because the lie had been told. He was profoundly relieved, no matter how much his friend hated him for it.

Gabriel asked carefully, “When will the FBI be releasing details of the charges to the public?”

Bela replied, “That’s something I need to discuss with John. He will have a lot of control over what gets said on Monday, depending on how he wishes to proceed. However, the FBI will craft the statement, not the Insurrectionists or the Opportunists. We have no intention of enabling any more public slapfights between your parties.”

“Right,” Gabriel replied in obvious disappointment. “So you’re saying that absolutely nothing is up to us from this point on, as far as PR goes.”

“Untrue. Michael just told you you’ll have time to make a statement or a press conference between noon and three on Monday.”

“Yeah, but that’s after the fact. What about before? Excuse me for not appreciating the fact that we basically have to sit on our hands and let the rumors get out of hand while you two get to sit back and enjoy the show.”

John snapped out of his reverie at the remark as Bela bristled.

“Gabe,” he chided warningly. “Let it go. We’ll talk later.”

“Seriously, John? No. It’s bullshit. You should see what the news is already saying. Which, by the way, I blame the FBI for.” He turned to Michael. “Why did you let this get leaked?”

“Gabe, if you don’t shut up-” John began, but Bela held a hand up and everyone instantly settled down and fell quiet again.

“It’s alright, John. I’ll answer that. The Opportunists leaked it, not us. They have been reprimanded for it already.”

Castiel looked at John and scoffed. “Lucifer wouldn’t have done that,” he muttered. “Not while he’s barely holding on to his job.”

“Uriel all the way,” John agreed bitterly.

“Balthazar,” put in Gabriel sullenly. “Wolf in sheep’s clothing, that one.”

“But smarter than Lucifer and Uriel put together, and that’s not saying much,” John refuted hotly.

“Let’s settle down, please,” Bela said firmly. The room went silent again. “If there are no further questions or arguments, we should move forward.”

“No,” replied Cas.

“This is bullshit,” muttered Gabe under his breath.

“ _Gabriel_ ,” John growled.

“No questions, Ms. Talbot,” Gabriel amended politely, finally accepting that he was pushing John too far.

She nodded. “That will be all then. We’ll be in touch again soon.”

The door shut behind the two men as they left, and John looked at Jack for the first time. “You doing okay?”

“Yes, sir,” the young man answered confidently.

“Do you wish to speak with me alone before we get started?”

“No, sir. But you need to tell me if you’re uncomfortable answering a question _before_ you answer it, not afterwards. I will ask for clarification, or have it rephrased or removed from the record. Don’t say anything ambiguous, try to stick to yes and no and short explanations. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” He smiled wryly, idly wondering at the same time if Jack had also spoken to Cas and Gabe in such an authoritative manner. He could imagine both men being deeply offended by such unexpected sassiness from the new guy, and the thought amused him for a few precious moments.

Michael opened his binder and picked up a pen. “Let’s start with the subpoena. I had to rewrite it on the way to Los Angeles to include some revisions from Lucifer. The very first thing I want to ask you is extraordinarily delicate, to say the least, and your answer could determine if there will be additional charges.”

“Way to jump right in,” John mused bitterly. “Not even a softball question first, huh? By the way, please accept my apologies for Gabriel’s behavior. I’ll be having a word with him later.”

“It’s alright, John. He was fine in the interview, and he’s not exactly wrong about his concerns. I'll revisit that issue with the president and see what he says.”

“Thank you.”

Michael looked down at his notes, obviously feeling uncomfortable about the incident nonetheless. “Moving on. Lucifer wants to lay additional charges of unlawful corporate espionage because he has evidence that one of your informants took copies of proprietary documents at your direction. If you’re aware of any such actions, you need to tell me now. If we find out later, things are going to get ugly very quickly.”

 _Fuck._ John cleared his throat. “I know of one such action. One of my informants tried to bring me a copy of an Opportunist’s legal document on his own accord. I was incensed, to say the least, and made him shred it on the spot. I never laid a single finger on it, nor did I ask for anything like that to be taken.”

Bela was stone-faced. “What kind of document?”

 _Fuck, again._ “A draft of the original lawsuit complaint.”

Michael’s jaw dropped. “That’s...okay, that’s a felony offense on its own.”

“I’m not telling you who it was, so don’t ask,” John bristled.

Jack leaned over to his new boss and said quietly, “You don’t have to tell them. Stay calm.”

John took a deep breath and tried again to answer Michael more diplomatically. “Yes. I’m aware it was against the law. That’s why I ordered it shredded immediately, in front of the group, so that four people could witness it. I never touched it.”

Bela set down her pen and picked up a bottle of water. “Was this person searched for additional copies of the document, including his belongings?”

“Yes. None were found.” That was the truth, technically. The secret copy had not been found when Pamela searched the briefcase.

Bela and Michael exchanged glances, and John suddenly became deeply uncomfortable. He hadn’t yet shredded the second copy; it was in a locked drawer in his desk at home. He vowed to immediately shred it after reading it once more, the moment he got home.

“Right, so…” Bela took a deep breath and drank some more water. “This is a problem, John. If I had your offices searched right now, would we find any other illicit documents?”

“I believe a warrant is required to search my offices. Is that correct, Jack?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re not searching anything,” Bela clarified irritably. “I’m asking you a question, and I expect you to answer it.”

Michael caught the momentary flash in John’s eye that indicated he was about to lie. Something he had never seen before in him, but had seen a thousand times before in other people. It was unmistakable.

“No. You won’t find anything,” John said steadily.

“Thank you. Moving on-” she stopped herself as her phone rang. “I’m very sorry, gentlemen, this is the president. I have to take it. Please excuse me.”

She got up and disappeared into the private washroom that was connected to the conference room.

Michael cleared his throat roughly and looked at the lawyer. “Mr. Kline, with John’s permission will you please leave us alone for a moment? Thanks.”

John nodded, and the young man left. Michael looked John right in the eyes and didn’t waver. “You’re lying, John. Stop it, or I will seal up both your offices within the hour and you’ll never get the chance to go back in. Do you understand me?”

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Do it, then, if you’re so convinced.”

“You also told Castiel to lie. Tell the truth from this point on, or I’ll do it for you. We clear?”

John picked at a piece of loose laquer on the table and smirked. “Just from this point on, huh?”

Michael sighed and shook his head. “Jesus Christ, John. You’ve really...I don’t even know what to say. Get your lawyer back in here, please, before I say something I’ll regret.”

“Like what? What else could you possibly do to dig my grave any deeper?”

“You’re trying to blame this on me? Unbelievable! I’m trying to help you, you stubborn fucker,” Michael hissed.

“I appreciate the support,” John replied insincerely.

“Support that’s _always_ been there, by the way, if you’d ever take a moment to realize it. Haven’t you ever noticed that everyone is on your side, except you? Even Lucifer, for god’s sake.”

John sat up straighter. “Even Lucifer? What the hell does _that_ mean?”

“Forget it. I need to stop talking.” Michael got up and pulled open the door to let Jack back in before either of them could say anything else.

John just sat there in silence, feeling like he had received several gut punches in a row.

_Your transparency will be the death of you._

_I’m trying to help you, you stubborn fucker._

_Everyone is on your side, except you._

_Even Lucifer._

\------------------------------------

“Well, that was fun,” John said blandly as he strolled into Castiel’s office two hours after he had last seen him. Gabriel was there, too, looking just as depressed as John felt.

Cas stood up. “What happened? Everything okay?”

“Ha. When was the last time anything was okay around here?”

“What’s going to happen now?” asked Gabriel with deep concern. “And please, no more joking.”

“Well...I have four days to mount my defense for the charges that are coming on Monday. Blackmail, espionage, bribery, et cetera.” He held up the subpoena. “It’s all in here. The worst part is something I need to discuss with Castiel alone, since it concerns the boys. Not that I don’t want  you in on the discussion, Gabe, but it truly doesn’t make sense to-”

“It’s alright,” Gabriel replied quickly. “I understand. You two definitely need to talk.”

“Wait, let’s not jump ahead,” Castiel insisted. “Besides the tape, John, what else do they have on you?”

“What tape?” Gabe asked, puzzled.

John rubbed his temples. “Guys, I...there’s so much I need to tell you. Let’s meet in the morning, okay? Clear your calendars. I’ve gotta go home.”

\------------------------

John didn’t show up for the meeting on Thursday morning, so around 10am Castiel took a car to the house to check on him. He already knew he was okay - as in alive and acting normally - because he had spoken to Benny already once he had gotten too concerned to wait any longer.

He was shocked to the core when the guard at the gate turned him away.

“Mr. Winchester doesn’t wish to have any visitors right now. Sorry, sir,” said a clearly embarrassed Devereaux.

“I...but...does he know it’s me?”

“Yes, sir. Just spoke to him. He said to deny you entry.”

 _You’ve got to be kidding me,_ Cas thought, stunned beyond description.

“Very well, I...thank you?”

He went back to the office and continued reading through all of John’s old emails to find any way out of this mess. Again. Around 4pm, Gabriel all but burst through the door.

“Cas! Turn on the news!” He ran to the television and quickly found the right channel, and Castiel watched in stony, shocked silence as John appeared, walking confidently down the stairs of a private plane.

\- _arrived approximately half an hour ago at the private airstrip in New Castle, about 35 miles outside of Philadelphia. He was taken into custody by Bela Talbot on the tarmac and is presumably being driven to FBI headquarters. A spokesperson for the FBI has stated that a statement will be released in two hours. As the story develops we will continue to update you._

The shot changed to a blurry aerial view of the towncar, not moving in the standstill traffic on 95.

Castiel couldn’t breathe, or speak. He was vaguely aware of his cell phone ringing in his pocket, and strictly by force of habit he pulled it out mechanically and flipped it open.

It was pretty much the last person he could imagine having anything coherent to say to at the moment.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Uncle Cas? I’m sorry to bother you. When are you going to be home? I’m kind of freaking out.”

Castiel's chest tightened. “Right now, Dean-o. I’m coming. Hold on.”

\--------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In case you're wondering, NO, John did not bail out on his kids without telling them. More on that in the next chapter.)


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. Thanks for reading.

Castiel realized on the way to the Winchester house that Dean would probably be on the floor in a fit of hyperventilation when he arrived, but he didn’t have the name or number to the boy’s doctor, nor any idea of if or when she needed to be called. It didn’t occur to him, though, that there were 17 other people in the household - plus Sam - who already had this information. He was used to living completely alone, so the thought of 20 people living under one roof, and who all looked out for each other, was completely foreign to him.

Therefore, when the gates to the estate opened up immediately upon the arrival of his towncar (the guard didn’t even bother to come out of the booth) he raced up to the front door with an oppressive feeling of barely controlled panic. Just like Dean was feeling right now, he figured.

Lisa opened the door for him with a small smile, and Castiel was surprised to find Dean and Sam merely sitting on the couch, chatting and eating Cheez-Its like nothing was wrong. He hesitated, then went and sat down beside them, dreading what he was about to hear next.

“Hello, boys. How are you doing?”

“Not so good. Dad’s not coming back,” Sam blurted casually. “Want some Cheez-Its?”

Castiel paused, shook his head, and studied Dean’s calm expression in deep confusion. “Dean, I thought...you said you were freaking out, so I raced here as fast as I could. What’s going on?”

“He wasn’t freaking out,” Sam answered with a mouthful of crackers. “He’s fine!”

Dean flipped to the next page of his comic book. “Yeah, I’m fine, Uncle Cas. We just got home from school. But dad’s in Philadelphia for a little while, so he wants you to stay with us.”

“Forever,” interjected Sam with all the sullen attitude that only 12-year old boys were capable of.

“Maybe. Is that why you’re home early?” Dean asked offhandedly.

“I…sure. Yes.” Castiel turned to look helplessly at Lisa, whose expression offered no further clues. He turned back to the boys again. “When I find out what your dad is up to, I’ll let you know. In the meantime-”

Dean answered, “It’s okay, we already know. He left you a note in the study with the rules we have to follow and stuff until he gets back.” Dean stood up and set down the box of Cheez-Its. “I’ll show you where it is. Want something to drink first?”

“No, thanks.”

Castiel followed the teenager in wonder, feeling like he was in the Twilight Zone.

Until they arrived in the study, that is. It turned out Dean had just been staying strong and unconcerned for Sam’s sake; once the door shut and he was alone with his “uncle,” he completely lost it. Castiel grabbed the box of Kleenex and caught Dean just as the boy collapsed onto the couch and all but melted into him in tearful anguish.

\-----------------------

After half an hour of calming Dean, who thankfully didn’t have a full-fledged panic attack, Castiel slowly peeled himself off the couch and moved towards the manila envelope on the desk. It contained just a few sheets of paper topped by a handwritten letter on John’s personal letterhead.

Dean looked up at him questioningly from where he was lying listlessly, so Castiel felt compelled to explain. “I don’t think your dad meant for you to see this, based on the way it’s sealed. I’m going to read it to myself first, okay? And I’ll share with you what I can.”

He only got a bare nod of a response, but that was enough, and he tore open the flap in fretful anticipation.

_Cas - I left early for Philadelphia to make sure there was enough time to wrap this thing up before March 31. Enclosed is a list of all the standing rules I have for my sons. Dean will follow them except for the one about not watching the news, so I’ve had all the televisions removed  and locked in basement storage, except for the one in my bedroom sitting room, which is off-limits to the boys at all times. The door’s passcode is 1182. Sam is pretty good on the whole, but watch his sugar intake carefully or he’ll be bouncing off the walls 24 hours a day._

_Also enclosed is a list of usernames and password for all of my online accounts, as well as the combination code to my safe. In there, you’ll find more information which you can access on April 1 if I haven’t returned by then. As for the investigation, you and Gabriel are to stay out of it completely from now on unless you are asked specifically for information by the FBI. There’s nothing else you can do at this point. Go back to work as usual and be the amazing leader that I know you are (need to work on your people skills, though...they’re a little rusty.) I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Stay true. -John_

Castiel read it four times, his heart falling further and further into the abyss each time - then looked across at Dean, who had sat up and was fully alert again.

“What did your dad tell you?” he croaked. “Try to remember exactly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Sorry. Dad said he…he...”

Castiel set the letter down and crossed back to Dean, taking the chair directly across from him. “I know this is hard, but you have to tell me. I didn’t have time to talk to him before he left, and his trip was a complete surprise to me.”

Dean nodded again, then wiped his eyes for the hundredth time. “Last night when he got home from work, he said he was going to be gone for a while. Like, maybe years. We…”

“Be strong, Dean. Continue.”

“Sorry, I’m trying. He said a lot, I don’t remember it all. But I understand what’s going on. He’s going to Philadelphia to try to get exhilarated.”

“Exonerated,” Cas correctly, much less gently than he intended.

“Exonerated. But he doesn’t know if he can. He doesn’t think he can. He said...he’ll probably be back before I graduate college.”

Castiel stood up, unable to bear another moment of sitting still. This was a bloody disaster.

“I don’t really know what else to say, Uncle Cas,” Dean continued, fearing that the man was annoyed at him, rather than at his father. “We spent all our time since then just being together, and saying goodbye, but he still made us go to school this morning after he left for the airport.”

That sounded just like John; as hardass as ever even under the most dire circumstances. “How is Sam doing?”

Dean shrugged. “Fine. I don’t think it’s hit him yet. Anyway, then dad told me to call you at four o’clock because you’d know by then that he was in Philadelphia.”

Castiel nodded. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

“Not really. Not work related, anyway. He told us we had to listen to you and not give you a hard time. Which we won’t, Uncle Cas, I swear.”

“I know. Dean-o, you look pale. Why don’t you go lay down for a little bit in your room? I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. Can you grab me something to drink? I don’t care what. I need to call Gabriel to let him know you’re okay, and then I’ll be right there.”

“Okay. Can I take the dogs up with me?”

Castiel hesitated. “What would your dad say to that?”

“He’d....” Dean hesitated. “He’d say no. They aren’t allowed on the second floor.”

“Then no. Go on, I’ll see you in a minute.”

Dean pulled himself up with a grumble and left, and Castiel dialed his friend as fast as he could manage. Gabe picked up halfway through the first ring, his tone angry and hurried.

“What the fuck is going on, Cas? You disappeared on me and I’ve been dealing with a fucking five-alarm fire here without any kind of guidance or information. Thanks a lot for just bailing out and leaving me a hell of a mess to clean up.”

“Calm down. I had to tend to Dean. Turns out John left me a letter.” Castiel read the most relevant parts to him and was met with a deafening silence on the other end of the line.

“Gabe..?”

“Yeah. I’m here. What the fuck are we supposed to tell our constituents? Never mind them, what about our own employees? Not to mention the media. God damn it, John.”

Castiel put the letter into a drawer that had the key in the lock, then removed the key and put it into his pocket. “First of all, stop cussing at me. It’s not helping. Secondly, don’t worry about the media. We’re under a gag order so they don’t matter at the moment. Send out a company-wide email to let our employees know we’ll have an all-hands meeting tomorrow at 10am.”

“What are you going to say?”

“I have no idea yet. I’ll call you back in an hour.”

He almost put the phone back in his pocket, but changed his mind and left it on the desk. There were well over 50 missed calls already, and the buzzing reminders were annoying him. Sam wasn’t in the living room when he passed through, so he went straight to Dean’s room and shut the door behind him. Then he pulled up a desk chair next to the bed. Dean was facing the wall and under all his sheets and blankets.

“There’s a root beer for you on my nightstand,” he mumbled, and Cas reached over and took it gratefully.

“Thanks. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Sleepy. I was up all night.”

“Okay. Do you need anything?”

Dean didn’t say anything at first, but then he flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “I got in trouble with Mrs. Angel today.”

“For what?” Castiel asked with a slight choking reaction; he was so _not_ ready to be a father and this kind of talk made him extremely nervous.

“I wasn’t very nice to her.”

“Okay. You want me to talk to her and explain?”

“Yeah. Please.”

Castiel nodded. “Consider it done. Don’t worry about it. You were under a lot of stress today.”

“Uncle Cas?” Dean said after a long moment of silence.

“Yes?”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

 _Me too,_ thought Castiel as he reached behind him for the trash can.

\------------------------------


	59. Shifting Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John tries to shift Castiel's position from supporter to accuser in order to protect him (Castiel) and the party. If you’ll recall, Dean mentions this to Sam at the end of chapter 7.

**FBI Headquarters - Philadelphia**

Friday morning, March 19

“Okay, wait. I’m confused. You want to do _what_ , John?”

“You heard me,” John answered gruffly, and he felt rather than saw Jack stiffen next to him.

“Yeah, but...no.” Michael irritably threw down his pen, which he knew had not yet run out of ink but was still refusing to cooperate. “When I said you had a lot of input into our press release, that didn’t include throwing _yourself_ under the bus.”

John shrugged. “I’m only concerned about the well-being of my party at this point. They must go on without me, and if the public thinks Cas and Gabe were involved in any of this bullshit, they’ll defect in droves.”

“I get it. But-”

John leaned forward in an almost threatening manner. “Apparently you don’t, or you wouldn’t be arguing with me about it.”

Michael didn’t flinch and hardened his own tone in response. “In the ten years I’ve known you, I’ve _never_ had to tell you not to lie. But here I am, saying exactly that twice in less than a week. There won’t be a third time. The answer is no, and that’s the end of it.”

“For all you know, it’s not a lie. I haven’t even told you anything yet.”

“If you truly expect me to believe that Castiel forced you to turn yourself in, you’re batshit crazy, John. I know you. And I understand why you’d want to deflect the blame from him, I really do. But you’re jumping way ahead. We haven’t even discussed the charges yet.”

John stood up and began pacing around the room angrily. “The only charge that you’ll ever be able to prove is blackmail. The rest is bullshit. You know that.”

“No, I don’t,” Michael said simply. Quietly. Almost hesitantly.

John turned to him with a shocked expression. “ _What_?”

Michael took a breath so deep that it hurt his lungs. “I _believe_ it, but I don’t _know_ it. Not yet.”

“Uriel does, but you don’t fucking care about that,” John retorted with a scoff.

“Mr. Winchester,” Jack said suddenly. “Please retain your calm demeanor.”

Michael nodded, keeping his eyes on John. “Agreed, thank you. You need to sit down and answer these items you ignored on the questionnaire, or else we can’t proceed.”

John sat back down and snatched the papers off the desk. “This phone number that I allegedly called three times around Christmas. What’s it in regards to? I don’t even know how to answer.”

Michael hesitated again, not wanting to fight or cause any reason for John to dislike him. “Look, just answer the question. Who was the number to, and why-”

“I don’t _know_! Is it illegal to call phone numbers in Denver now? Why are you even suspicious about it at all? I think I deserve an explanation. No, scratch that. I absolutely, 100% deserve a goddamned explanation about why you want to know. And where is Bela, by the way?”

“Not here.”

John bit back his retort that would have included a snotty reference to ‘Captain Obvious.’ “Yeah, I can see that. Is she listening to us?”

“No. As I mentioned, this conversation is being recorded, but she’s not listening live. She’ll hear it later. No one else is listening, either. This is you and me. Answer the question about the phone number, please.”

John smiled sardonically and gestured with his palm up. “You first, please. I insist.”

“A moment.” Michael lifted his phone receiver and dialed a number, which was obviously Bella’s.

“Mr. Winchester would like an explanation of why we’re asking about the 303 number. Yeah, that one. May I tell him?” He paused, looked at John and shook his head slightly, then looked away again. “Thank you.”

As he hung up the phone, he mouthed “sorry” so that it couldn’t be heard on the recording.

“I can’t tell you until after you answer the question to the best of your ability.”

“No. Jack, what are my rights in regards to this matter?” He turned to look at the young man, who was bleary-eyed from being unprepared for the red-eye flight that Castiel had hastily sent him on to intercept John.

“None that I’m aware of, sir. The question isn’t out of line so far.”

John sighed, giving up the fight at last. “The only thing I can think of was that it was Ruby’s cell phone number. She was delivering a document for me when she was killed. I called her once to my memory, though. Not three times, but that was three months ago. Maybe I only spoke to her once, but had to call three times to reach her? I don’t know.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat as he looked down at the phone records. That would still not explain this. Then he pulled up Ruby’s profile again and matched it to one single call on John’s records. He _had_ called her once, he wasn’t lying, but Michael already knew that.

“You did call her once. It’s right here, and it’s not the same number. Any other reason you might have called it?”

“I want to know why you’re asking me, or I’m not saying another word,” John said steadily. “Jack, don’t interrupt me, please. Michael, you either tell me what this is all about, or you put me in jail now and I’ll fight until the bitter end alone because I’m not putting up with this. End of story.”

“Alright, alright,” Michael said wearily, rubbing his forehead and hoping the nausea would go away sooner rather than later. “We got a call from someone claiming to be her killer. About six weeks ago. He called me again last night and gave me that number, and said you called it three times, and on the right dates. He also had detailed knowledge of the crime scene that was never released. The phone was deactivated on December 26 and is untraceable, even by us.”

“What the fuck,” John muttered to himself in disbelief.

“So now,” Michael continued miserably, “you see why I’m asking. This looks bad, John. That’s why I’m pushing you for a reasonable explanation. Anything you can tell me will be helpful.”

“What kind of _detailed knowledge_ did he have, exactly?”

Michael looked like he wasn’t going to answer, but he did. “That she was carrying a list of confidential information about Opportunist executives. The same list that got leaked a few weeks ago. He has the copy she was carrying, he says. So...I don’t really need to add anything to that, I think.”

“Did you record this ‘mystery’ call?”

“Yes. And you will be able to listen to it after we’re done with this initial deposition. Monday, most likely.”

John shook his head for a few minutes, it was all he could do.

“Okay. So let’s say she was carrying such a list, just for the fun of it. You’re implying that I had her killed _before_ she could drop it off to me? How does that make any sense, logistically? Why not do her in afterwards?”

“Well, our mystery caller said he thought she’d made the drop. When he realized he messed up, he ran, deactivated the number, and hasn’t been in touch with you since. Went rogue on you is what he claims.”

“His _claims_ areutter bullshit,” John said angrily.

“Alright,” Michael said, still trying to write something down with his misbehaving pen. John wordlessly handed him one of his own, then waited silently as the man took down his notes.

”Anything else to add on this issue at the moment?”

“No. I need to talk to Castiel,” John said quietly. “Will you allow me a few minutes alone?”

“You can have ten minutes. I’m going to make some more coffee.” He reached over and stopped the recording device.

“Thank you.” John turned to Jack after Michael was gone. “You can listen if you want, but it’s going to be pretty uncomfortable, not gonna lie.”

Jack nodded decisively. “I’ll stay.”

“John?” answered the sleepy, astonished man on the other line. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Cas, I’m sorry I left without telling you. Things got crazy real quick. Are you alone?”

“Yes, I’m in your guest room. The boys are still asleep. What’s going on?”

John glanced at the clock; it was 5:15am in Los Angeles. “Jesus, sorry to wake you. I didn’t even think about the time change. Hey, listen, I got your voicemail regarding your meeting this morning with your staff.”

“ _Our_ staff, John.”

 _Pause_. “Right. Look, I’ve been thinking about it and decided I want you guys to stay completely neutral. Don’t go into anything specific, or say something like you’re certain I’ll be found innocent, blah blah blah. It’s really important that you don’t take my side. Just say this is what’s happened, this is what we know, now we have to wait to see what comes next. You have to be as non-committal as possible. End of story.”

There was a long pause on the other line. “What _exactly_ is going on, John?” Castiel asked suspiciously.

“Nothing, yet. Haven’t even met with anyone today. But whatever I do next is in your own best interests, whether you like it or not. Okay? Promise me you won’t fight, and that you’ll stay out-”

“John-”

“Don’t interrupt me, please. You and Gabe  _cannot_ take my side. Especially you. Remember what I said about the boys.”

“So this request is personal, rather than business.”

“No,” John answered hastily. “It’s both. Maybe not equally, but both all the same.”

Castiel didn’t say anything for a while, then he demanded, “I think I’m owed a better explanation than that. What are you up to?”

“Nothing!” John fired back. “Are you going to do as I say, or not? I need to know before I proceed here.”

“Fine, so you just want me to tell everyone ‘okay, nothing to see here, back to work’ and think this is just going to blow over?”

“I don’t want to fight with you, Cas,” John said tiredly, returning to his normal tone. “I’m trying to protect you first, and the party second. It’s extremely important that you are personally distanced from me as much as possible right now.”

Castiel scoffed. “I don’t feel the same, John. It’s my duty to stand up for you. As a friend, not even as an employee. It astonishes me that you’re caving in and giving up just like that, and I won’t accept it. I’m going to defend you, like it or not.”

John closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Cas. We’ve known each other for too long, that’s the problem right now. You’re not seeing the big picture because your heart is getting in the way. Normally I would appreciate that, but not today. Use your brain, please. If you’re dragged into this...if you defend me, and I go down anyway, you’ll be associated with that forever. And so will the party.”

“I don’t care,” Castiel replied simply. “You’re innocent. My loyalty to you is more important than this job. The party can burn down to ashes for all I care.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I absolutely do.”

John knew he wasn’t going to win the argument at this point unless he changed tactics drastically, and that was going to be extraordinarily painful. He dodged a wary glance at the recording device to make certain it was actually off, then inhaled deeply.

“Okay. Cas, I...maybe you shouldn’t be as loyal to me as you think. I haven’t been perfectly honest with you lately, and there are things that you don’t know...” His voice broke a little, but he got it back together quickly. “Look, I’m not giving up. I’m fighting this. But I’ll say it one last time: distance yourself from me before it’s too late. For you, and the party. But mostly for you. You need to get back to work and move on. Don’t fall on your sword for me. And if I’m cleared, we’ll all get back to work as usual, and no one will be worse for wear. Are we perfectly clear now?”

There was no answer from Castiel, as John expected, and he was surprised to feel a strong burn in his eyes and tightening in his chest.

“Cas?” he prompted after a minute.

“Yes. I’ll do as you say,” he replied calmly. Icily.

John wiped his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch again soon, okay? Just...stay true. Keep our good work going until I get back. Say hi to the dogs for me.”

“I will.”

“Alright. Goodbye for now.” He hung up before Castiel could say anything that would make him burst into tears, then turned to Jack.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been listening,” John said with a humorless laugh. “You don’t know me well enough to know that sometimes I have to trick Castiel into doing what’s best for him.”

Jack was just staring at him wordlessly.

“Are you alright?” John asked after a moment, concerned that his young lawyer was about to bail on him. “You can go home, if you want. I don’t-”

“No, sir,” Jack said firmly. “I’m staying. You’re right that I don’t know you well, but even a stranger could tell you weren’t being truthful with Castiel. You haven’t done anything, have you?”

“No. Well, not what they’re accusing me of, anyway,” admitted John.

Jack hesitated a little. “You still don’t think Lucifer is behind all this?”

“Oh he has something to do with it, but he’s not the mastermind. He’s not smart or devious enough. Uriel is the puppet master here; of that I have absolutely zero doubt.”

Jack nodded. “They cannot legally ignore you if you accuse him outright. Formally, I mean. But without evidence it could be construed as slander, so you have to be careful.”

“I’m pretty sure slander charges are the least of my worries right now.”

John leaned back in his chair again and stared at his phone, which was still flipped open and glowing. The urge to call Cas back and smooth things out again was overwhelming. But he hit the power button and flipped it shut, then picked up the questionnaire as Michael re-entered the room.


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows previous chapter.

**Winchester House - early morning - Friday**

“Of course he was lying, Gabriel! How could you possibly think otherwise?”

“Sorry,” Gabe said contritely. “I didn’t mean to imply...look, I’m just having a hard time absorbing this whole thing. Not to mention I’m still half-asleep. We’ve been through this before, you know. It’s like freakin’ Groundhog Day.”

“What? I don’t understand that reference.”

Gabe was a little shocked at that. “You haven’t seen the movie? Never mind. I mean this whole doubting him back-and-forth between you and me. Doesn’t this happen every few months? Usually I’m the one being the devil’s advocate because we have to look at this fairly, but that doesn’t mean I’m accusing him of anything. We _know_ he’s done stupid, shady things in the past, Cas. This isn’t-”

“No. If you’re not going to get on the same page with me, just forget ever discussing this again.”

Gabriel sighed. “Fine. This linear thinking isn’t constructive, just so you know. But if John wants us to distance ourselves, we have to do it. He’s still the boss as far as I’m concerned. No offense, of course.”

Castiel stared at the ceiling fan as it slowly made its way around in endless, meaningless circles. _Kind of like this investigation, and my relationship with Gabriel, and politics in general..._

“I can’t do it, Gabe. I just can’t sit by and say nothing in his defense. I’m going to quit.”

“Right, because that solves everything, huh? Coward’s way out, if you ask me.”

 _Sigh._ “I know. You’re right. But it’s tempting, all the same.”

There was a knock on Castiel’s door, and he sat up so fast it made him dizzy. Angela leaped off the bed like a flying squirrel and immediately launched into a frenzied barking fit at the door.

“Angela, shush. Hang on, Gabe. Going to put you on mute for a moment. _Angela_!” He climbed out of bed and went to open the door, where Sam was standing there expectantly.

“Everything okay, Sam?”

“Chef wants to know what you want for breakfast.”

“Already?” Cas exclaimed as he looked at his watch.

“We eat at 7, Uncle Cas. Are you hungry yet?”

“Yes, just tell him to make whatever he’s making you two. Thanks. Listen, I’m on a call and I have to finish it up. I’ll be out soon.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “With dad?”

Castiel’s heart dropped a little. “Uh, no. But it’s about your dad, and it’s really important. I’ll see you at 7, okay? Please take Angela out and let her into the yard.”

Sam frowned and took her collar wordlessly, leaving Castiel feeling sorry for speaking more harshly than he intended. John’s remarks about his rusty people skills came flooding back to him. He would have to work on that, for sure. But not right now.

“Gabe, I don’t even know what to say at the staff meeting. This has really thrown me for a loop.”

“Okay, let me think about it and get back to you. Try to stay focused and don’t let the boys see you rattled. By the way...you know I don’t like to disagree with you, but John’s right. We have to stay neutral, and that would apply for anyone in the same situation. To do otherwise could backfire on us to the point where we can’t recover.”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t even care.”

 _“Castiel_ ,” Gabriel admonished. “You’re not acting anything like the leader John wants you to be. We have 509 people directly counting on us. Do you think he’d be proud of you if he heard this conversation? Proud that you gave up within five minutes and were willing to throw everything away to do the opposite of what he’s asking you to do?”

“No,” Castiel admitted grudgingly. “He’d tear me a new one.”

“Correct, and you’d deserve it. So get yourself together, and let’s meet at the office at 8:30.”

“Alright. Thanks. See you then.”

Castiel hung up and then made his way upstairs to Dean’s room in order to keep himself occupied enough to not have to think about this whole sorry situation. He was surprised to see all three dogs in bed with the teenager, wrapped around his body protectively.

“Hey, Dean,” he said softly as he approached the bed. “Time to get ready for breakfast. Are you awake?”

“I don’t want to, Uncle Cas.”

“Okay. You don’t have to eat, but you need to go to school.”

“I know,” came the muffled reply. “I will.”

Cas weighed the option of admonishing him about the dogs, but didn’t see any benefit to being a hardass about it. Dean was clearly comforted by their presence, and the three pairs of dark canine eyes were watching Cas so smugly that it seemed fruitless to challenge their cozy stronghold. Instead, he left and stood in the doorway of Sam’s room.

“Dean doesn’t want to eat. Can you tell Chef when you go down?”

Sam was sorting through several shirts in an effort to decide what to wear. “But he always says that, and then he changes his mind at the last second. All it takes is some bacon.”

“Good to know. Why didn’t you take Angela outside like I asked you?”

“She didn’t want to go. It’s like she suddenly weighs 500 pounds when you try to get her to do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Fair enough.” That was indeed quintessentially Angela, the most determined and stubborn dog he’d ever known. “But how did she and the other dogs get upstairs, then?”

Sam shrugged. “I opened the gate to let them all come up. Dad’s not here.”

This was an argument for another time, Castiel knew instinctively, but he couldn’t just let it go. “Your dad’s rules still apply, Sam. Next time don’t do that, or at least ask me.”

“Or what? You’ll take a belt to me?” Sam responded bitterly, still not making eye contact. “It’s a stupid rule.”

 _Oh boy_ , thought Castiel. _Danger zone._ He walked fully into the room and shut the door behind him, then sat down on Sam’s bed next to the pile of shirts.

“I don’t believe in corporal punishment, as you know. Stop what you’re doing for a second and look at me,” he commanded gently, but firmly. “Thank you. I’m really disappointed in you, Sam. I’ve been here all of one day - less than one day, actually - and already you’re testing me. We will follow _all_ of your dad’s rules...yes, I include myself in that, because there are plenty of things I can’t do, either. It’s what he wants and expects us from us. Let’s not let him down. Are we agreed?”

“But it’s not like he’ll ever find out, since he’s not coming back.”

Castiel closed his eyes briefly, silently vowing that he wouldn’t let his sudden surge of strong emotion take over. “Go put the dogs in the yard, and don’t argue with me.”

Sam’s posture relaxed, the fight in him disappearing instantly. “But I’m not trying to argue,” he said quietly, his voice trembling a little. “Dad always lets Dean sleep on the couch with them on bad days and it helps a lot. I was just trying to make him feel better. Sorry, Uncle Cas.”

Castiel froze, then before he could stop himself, he capitulated. “Okay. They can come upstairs from now on.”

Sam stared agape a time him. ”Really?”

“Yes. I don’t want Dean sleeping downstairs at night. So you boys will have to make sure the doors are always closed to the other rooms so they don’t destroy anything.”

That cheered Sam up beyond compare, but the now severely depressed Castiel went back to the guest room in defeat. When he emerged forty-five minutes later the dogs were outside and Dean was hovering over the bacon, just as Sam had predicted. _Thank god._ Dean _was_ visibly better, if not downright cheerful, but Cas knew John would ream him anyway when he found out.

But...maybe he didn’t have to tell him. Just this once.

\-------------

**Denver, same time**

Bobby Singer hadn’t seen Lucifer in many years, not since he’d left Colorado and headed for warmer climate. They had been good friends, and Lucifer gave him a job for life at a party-affiliated training school, but his involvement with the party itself was long over. That’s why he was still in a bit of a daze as he waited in the conference room for his old friend, but he was smart enough to realize that this undoubtedly had something to do with John Winchester. But what, he didn’t know and couldn’t fathom.

Uriel, though...he was another story altogether. Bobby and Uriel hadn’t been on speaking terms since pretty much their first meeting. He couldn’t understand what Lucifer saw in the quietly dangerous man who locked eyes with people during conversation like his life depended on it. It was unnerving and intimidating, exactly what was intended. That was why Bobby stiffened when he heard the distinctive voice just outside the door. The knob turned along with his stomach.

“Bobby Singer,” Uriel sing-songed as he entered the room with Lucifer. “Long time, no talk. You look old, my friend.”

“Thank you?”

Lucifer silently shook hands with him, but Uriel just sat down and spread papers in front of himself as cheerfully as if they were all about to play dominoes.

“Thanks for coming,” Lucifer said guardedly. “You must be incredibly curious why I asked you here, and I’ll explain. I’ll also compensate you for the time you had to take off from work. But first I want to ask you something. Are you following the news in regards to John Winchester?”

Bobby cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “Only out of morbid curiosity, really. Those media idjits don’t really know what’s going on and their theories change every five minutes.”

“Right. Well, as you know, I’m not a fan of John’s personality and tactics. We’ve fought a lot over the years, and only recently started getting along and working together on some measures.”

“So I’ve heard,” Bobby said with a grin. “Nobody thought you and John could agree on the color of an orange.”

Lucifer didn’t smile back. “You’re not wrong. But one thing we have always agreed on is how we would do anything to protect our children. John is facing prison time, and the reason behind it is highly confidential. I’ve been tasked with finding a mutually agreeable negotiator, which is why I asked you here.”

“You mean...to negotiate what’s going to happen to Dean and Sam?”

“Yes. I know you two aren’t exactly friends, but you spent six years with the boys and ten years with John. Do you think he’d be willing to speak to you on my behalf regarding the plea bargain? If you agree, I can tell you everything. Then you’ll have to meet with him and discuss terms. He’s a good father, he’ll do what’s best for his boys.”

 _A good father._ He wondered how Lucifer knew that, and felt a cold surge of nostalgia at the sudden recollection of what John’s parenting was like back in the days just after the revolution. To a casual observer, he’d actually been a terrible father to the boys, especially to Dean - controlling, harsh, and downright unreasonable the majority of the time. Bobby had often stepped in to comfort young Dean after a punishment. But John wasn’t what he seemed; he spent half the time struggling to protect them, and half the time spoiling them senseless, which was what he vastly preferred. 

Good father or not, he deeply loved his sons. If they were threatened in any way, no force in the universe could survive the wrath he would unleash on the culprits. Bobby had seen it with his own eyes. They were threatened now, and John must be out of his mind with worry.

Bobby cleared his throat again, and then took the bottle of water that Lucifer hastily pushed over to him. “Thanks,” he said after he drank half of it. “I said I’d kill John the next time he saw me. So I would say my chances of getting any conversation out of him would be 50-50. Useful conversation, on the other hand...maybe a 10% chance. There’s just one problem beyond my ability to solve, though.”

“What’s that?”

“He'll never bargain. Not with you, with me, with anyone. Never has, never will. He’ll go down swinging first, and damn the consequences.”

Lucifer knew this, of course. “Let’s just get to the end result that I’m hoping for: as the aggrieved party John’s sons can be deeded to me via the plea bargain. I’ll transfer them to Castiel myself after the trial, if he makes it through.”

“ _Makes it through_?”

“Yes. I learned yesterday that Castiel is also implicated in at least one of the charges the FBI is bringing against John. A minor one, but enough to potentially earn him a class 2 felony and put him out of the running as their guardian.”

 _Oh...fuck._ Bobby almost choked, but he managed to keep a straight face. “Okay. But deeds can only be transferred once a year. John will never agree to you having them for a year, or a day, and that’s if he even believes you’d actually do it. Not in a million years, with a million words and a million promises.”

“I know, but we have to try. Didn’t say this job was going to be easy. And I can’t compensate you for it, either. We have to move fast if you’re going to agree, though. I’ll need you in Philadelphia on Tuesday at the latest.”

“Move fast?” Bobby asked. “Why rush it? Something like this...you’ll need all the resources and time you can get.”

Lucifer glanced aside at Uriel; Bobby really _was_ out of the loop now on the world around him now that he’d all but left the party.

“I think we’re going to need more time than I allotted for this discussion.” He stood up. “Let me go clear my calendar.”

\----------------

**Insurrectionist HQ, 10am staff meeting**

Castiel felt all but paralyzed as he stood in the wings at the little basement theater that was housed in the office park. Gabriel had hastily rented the venue from the owner of the building for an exorbitant fee, and all 488 employees present were jammed in shoulder to shoulder, waiting eagerly for news from their executives. He prayed no one would think to call the fire department and report a violation; the last thing the Insurrectionists needed right now was more bad PR over jamming their entire staff into a fire trap.

“Cas,” Gabriel said gently, moving closer towards his new boss. “It’s 10. You gotta go out and talk to them. Come on.”

“I...Gabe, I’ve never been so nervous in my life.”

“I don’t envy you, but you have to do it. Go get it over with.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “Alright. Where’s the mic, Charlie?”

Charlie glided over and handed it to him, then put a finger over her lips and turned on the switch. The light on the bottom of the mic glowed green and squealed briefly; Gabriel imagined feeling his own heart squeal back in response as he handed over the little speech they’d written together. He felt damnably sorry for Cas, but this was his job now and he had to do it. John had been through much worse a dozen times over.

Castiel closed his eyes, prayed silently for what seemed like an interminably long time, and walked out onto the little stage without any further adieu.

“Good morning,” he said first, and everyone murmured the same back in response. Cas froze; not because of stage fright but because he was afraid that his tone of voice would lack the conviction and strength he needed to get through this. It was hard enough to convince people of something you believed in, and much harder to convince them of something you didn’t. He looked down at the paper and realized his hands were shaking; which oddly helped steady his nerves. _Let my hands shake, then...as long as my voice doesn’t._

“We’re under a media gag order right now, so this message is for your ears only. We will make a public statement on Monday.” Deep breath. “John Winchester has been taken into custody pending charges that could lead to a criminal conviction. While the investigation is ongoing, I will be the interim leader of the Insurrectionists.”

He stopped, folded up the paper and put it in his pocket, imagining Gabriel all but screaming from him from the wings for going off-script after just two sentences. _How often have we both done the same to John?_ he wondered briefly, sadly.

“John wishes for me to not defend him, to not say he’s innocent, to not...put myself in a position where it could backfire and give me a bad name if the worst happens. I fought him hard on that, but ultimately agreed that it was in the best interests of our party - of all of _you_ \- that we allow him to independently proceed through this investigation, no matter what any of us personally believes. But I’ve worked for John for 10 years and been friends with him for 12, so you can probably imagine exactly how I feel about this entire situation. Which is that the accusations are complete bullshit, by the way, in case you have any doubts. But again, John told me not to say that, so I won’t.”

“Jesus Christ,” whispered Gabe to Charlie in shock. “Cas has gone rogue. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I knew he had it in him,” Charlie responded with a smirk.

Castiel stopped to take a deep breath and then walked up to the very edge of the stage, taking a moment to try to look at every face in the room. “Just because I’m up here on stage five feet above you does not mean I consider any of you below me. _All_ of us have _equal_ responsibility to honor John’s legacy by respecting his wishes to continue our good work in his absence, and to not waste time and words speculating about what could be. Therefore, at this time I will make no further remarks on the situation, because I don’t have time for it. It’s back to business for all of us. We have an April 1 vote coming up, and several of the measures still need a lot of work as far as rallying our constituents to oppose them. I would encourage you to avoid the news for now since we don’t need the distraction of mindless media speculation. As I mentioned, our media statement will be released on Monday. Thank you for your cooperation.”

He walked offstage and handed the mic back to Charlie, then looked at Gabe as he loosened his tie, expression as guilty as a dog who had been caught raiding the trash.

“Go ahead,” he said with a resigned sigh. “Chew me out for not following the script.”

“You think I should?” Gabriel answered seriously.

“If I was John, you would.”

“You’re not John. He usually went off-script to spite me. You did it to honor him. I’m actually _reall_ y proud of you, Cas.” Gabe’s voice cracked a little, and even he seemed surprised at himself for saying it.

Castiel froze with his tie half off. “Wait. What?”

Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder, feeling a warm glow course through both of them. “You did good. Really good. John would hate it, but I loved it. It was what our team needed to hear. Just don’t give that same speech to the cameras on Monday, please, or I might have something vastly different to say about it.”

“I won’t. Is it too early to go get lunch?”

“Not really. Blue Daisy opens at 10:30. Want to walk over?”

“Yes, please. I need a drink.”


	61. Chapter 61

**FBI HQ - Philadelphia**

Four hours into the interview, when it was time to break for the afternoon, Michael was all but at the end of his rope with John’s answers. Not that there was anything wrong with them, but...ironically enough, come to think of it, the problem was _exactly_ that there was nothing wrong with them. No conclusions could be drawn, no coincidences struck away, no questions answered...nothing. They ended the morning where they had started it, and the only thing gained was a new level of frustration and distrust from both sides.

The next hour or so was going to be much harder. Exponentially harder. Michael had to introduce the idea of a negotiator, which he knew John would absolutely throw a shit fit about. Then, as the day ended, he would have to call Lucifer and inform him that Ruby might have been carrying the list of confidential information for John. He wasn’t looking forward to either task, to say the least, so he just sat there alone, forcing down the tasteless whatever-was-on-his-plate, wondering what the hell John was thinking right now.

He sure knew what his own thoughts were like, and they’re weren’t pretty.

\------

John roamed around the room restlessly while Jack hungrily ate another snack, and wondered what the hell Michael was thinking about. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to fight the temptation to call his sons. They were in school, he knew, and what exactly was he going to tell them anyway? What was he going to tell Castiel, for that matter? Or anyone? He knew he was screwed on just the blackmail charge alone; the rest of it almost didn’t matter at this point.

Then there was Lucifer. How tempting it was to call him, too. Michael never explained what he meant when he’d said Lucifer was on John’s side, and the real translation of what that meant was an agonizing itch that John couldn’t scratch. He resolved to ask the question directly, and then automatically pulled his phone out of his pocket to call Castiel.

\------

**Los Angeles**

“Hello John,” Cas answered gruffly. “I have Gabriel with me. Is it ok if I put you on speaker?”

“Sure.”

Gabriel took a deep breath and sat down in Castiel’s desk chair, ignoring the astonished side-eye he was getting from his new boss.

“It’s weird not having you here, John,” Gabe said matter-of-factly. “Can’t wait for you to get back and start bitching about Castiel’s caffeine intake again.”

“You mean the fact that he goes through an entire package of my espresso pods every day? I don’t miss that. Damned things are expensive. Hey...did a guy come in to seal up my office door?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered quickly, then he covered the phone’s microphone with his hand. “Out of my chair,” he hissed in irritation at his colleague.

“I can imagine what everyone must be saying,” continued John glumly, his voice tinny and far away over the flip phone. “Don’t tell me, it will just make me more depressed.”

Gabriel answered in a positive tone, although his body language was saying something else to Castiel entirely. “I would love to tell you what they’re saying, actually. It would raise your spirits quite a bit.”

“Hmmm. Speaking of which, Cas, how did the meeting go this morning?”

“It wasn’t a meeting,” Castiel said as he sat down in his reclaimed chair, while Gabriel took the couch off to the side. “I...I just had some things to say.”

“Did you distance yourself from me like you promised?”

Cas shot a warning look at Gabriel before responding. “John, I made it clear that we as an organization were to let you proceed through the investigation independently and without offering any opinions to the contr-”

“Just answer the question, Cas,” John interrupted tiredly. “I wanted you to not back me up and stay entirely neutral. Did you, or did you not do specifically that?”

The long silence that ensued answered the question for them all.

“Right,” John sighed, sounding rightfully disappointed. “Maybe you should take me off speaker for a moment. I want to say something to you privately.”

Castiel picked up the phone and took a deep breath as he hit the button. “Yes? It’s just me now.”

“Look, Cas. I know I’m not in charge of you right now, but-”

“You are, John. Until this ends, one way or another.”

 _Pause._ “If you really believe that, you wouldn’t have disobeyed me. _Again._ Tell me exactly what you said.”

Castiel hesitated. “I’d rather not, because you might have a stroke.”

“That might be a blessing in disguise. Tell me.”

Cas did, almost word for word.

“Okay,” John eventually responded. “Obviously it’s no surprise that I’m really pissed off with you right now, and it frustrates me to the extreme that you can’t understand why. If my boys really don’t matter to you that much, then I might as well just turn them over to the state right now and save us all the trouble. Because I’m going down, Cas, whether you want to believe it or not. It’s time to get some fucking common sense, accept the reality of this situation, and start thinking about someone other than yourself. Are you hearing me?” His tone and volume had escalated dramatically, shocking Castiel to the core. It took him a few moments to find his voice.

“I’m not going to apologize for supporting you, John. I never will, no matter how angry you get.”

John scoffed angrily. “Fine. Tell that to the boys when you’re not approved to be their guardian after this shitshow goes through the courts. I’m sure they’ll understand that you couldn’t set your pride aside for five minutes to save them 20 years of slavery.”

“It’s not pride. It’s loyalty.”

“I don’t give a shit what it is, you’re endangering my sons and I don’t appreciate it one bit. Put Gabriel back on the phone.”

Cas shakily hit the speaker button once again. “Okay. He’s back on.”

“Gabe?”

“Yes, John?” he answered in a timid voice while watching Castiel worriedly; the man had suddenly gone ashen and looked about to vomit.

“I’m going to give it to you straight. If Cas doesn’t toe the line, he’s going to get dragged into this mess even further, which means Dean and Sam are in serious trouble. The Insurrectionists are to stay neutral and not defend me, period. I said it before and I’ll say it until my dying breath. Do you understand why?”

“Yes, sir, completely understood.” Gabriel never called John _sir_ unless he was dead serious and totally sincere...which wasn’t very often at all. Therefore, John knew for certain that his friend needed no further explanation and would do as asked without question.

“Thank you,” he breathed in relief. “Castiel? What about you? Are you going to comply with my wishes now?”

“Yes, sir.” It was even more rare for Castiel to use the honorific, and John was satisfied at last.

“Good,” he responded happily, tone back to normal again. “Then get back to work. The April 1 vote is coming up, and Lucifer wants to work with you on it. I expect you to cooperate fully with him despite this entire sorry situation, because our constituents are more important than personal grudges. I’ll be in touch soon.”

Castiel said nothing more as Gabriel bid their boss farewell and ended the call almost as pleasantly as it had begun.

“Jesus, Cas,” Gabe breathed shakily as he closed the phone and handed it back to his friend. “I never realized how scary he can be over the phone. In person, yes, but this is new. We’d better do what he says. Are you...are you alright? You’re white as a sheet.”

“I’m fine,” Castiel snapped as he got up to get some coffee. Then, remembering what John had said about the espresso pods, he stopped and resolved to curb his caffeine habit. Maybe that would ease his temper somewhat.

“Sorry, Gabriel,” he finally said. “I’m not myself today, obviously. I’m going to call John back and apologize. Do you mind…”

“Not at all, leaving now. Lock your door so you don’t get interrupted.”

“Thanks. I haven’t forgotten about our lunch. Just give me a few minutes.”

“Sure.”

Castiel got up and made the espresso anyway, swiftly abandoning his plan to cut back in favor of a quick fix of energy. Then he sat down in front of his desk phone and stared at it gloomily, unmoving.

After twenty minutes he still hadn’t dialed the phone. He didn’t want to. He knew he unfairly pointed the finger at John for this entire situation, for thrusting him prematurely into this job as CEO and father figure. Positions he _didn’t_ _want_ , he realized with a jolt for the very first time.

Even as the ugly truth set in, he hoped and prayed he would come around and actually want these things. Sooner, rather than later. 

If he’d had the _choice_ to take them, would he want them then? Was his reticence only because the boys and this job were forced on him? Was he being completely unreasonable and childish?

He didn’t know. It was possible. All that was for certain right now was the fact that forgiveness and understanding weren’t his number one priorities at this time. Saving his friend _was_ , but he wasn’t being allowed to even attempt it; his way blocked by the very man who needed saving.

It was such a fucked up situation, and to put it plainly...Castiel blamed John entirely and resented him bitterly for it. Even as he fought not to, and knew it was wrong.

But he also knew sitting around and moping was accomplishing nothing, so he shoved the phone angrily away and got up to collect Gabriel for lunch at John’s favorite restaurant.

Had Castiel known that he would never have the opportunity to speak to John again, the morning would have ended quite differently. 


	62. Chapter 62

**Friday night - Los Angeles**

It was suppertime at the Winchester house, and Dean and Sam waited politely and silently at the table while Chef kept the food heated for them. Normally, Chef would be home in Eagle Rock with his family on a Friday night but Castiel didn’t know that, and had earlier in the day asked him to prepare a nice meal for dinner. Garth had taken pity on the man and promised to drive him personally home afterwards, an offer which Chef had gratefully accepted.

The servants all instinctively knew tough times were ahead, even though - like Dean and Sam - they were not allowed to watch live television in the house. They could watch movies and tv series on tapes that Chuck would rent from Blockbuster on a weekly basis, but that was it. It was a rule universally resented by all of the indentured staff, but considering the lengths to which the man ensured their comfort and happiness in other ways - some quite extraordinary, such as the weekly banquets with their families - no one ever dared to complain, nor to even think of complaining. It almost seemed treasonous to even grumble about such a minor thing.

Chuck was also here, but that was normal since he lived in the house full time. At the moment he was busily canceling all the arrangements for the planned weekend sailing trip and Disneyland, taking some comfort in the fact that neither of the boys had known about the outings before John had left for Philadelphia. He couldn’t imagine either one of them even wanting to go anyway, considering the circumstances...well, maybe Sam would. He was too young to be perturbed by much, thankfully.

At a quarter after seven, Dean got up from the table and told Sam he was cold and going to get a sweater. Instead, he snuck downstairs to Lisa’s office. She was there, watching the news and drinking tea with an absent-minded expression.

“Hey Dean,” she said warmly. The next words out of her mouth should have been, “you aren’t allowed down here,” but the truth was, she didn't care. The poor kid had been through enough lately and didn’t need his guards hounding him.

“Hi.” Dean looked up at the television, then back to Lisa. “Do you think dad’s coming back?” he asked quietly.

Lisa frowned, then set her cup down carefully. “He hasn’t told me what’s going on. But I’ve heard from Benny that it’s...that it’s possible John, I mean, your dad, might have to stay away for awhile.” She glanced at the news footage. “The news is even less helpful than Benny was, no big shocker there,” she said skeptically.

Dean sat down on the corner of her desk and began to watch the news, pointedly crossing his arms to show that he didn’t care about the rule saying he couldn’t. But the screen went black suddenly, and he turned to look at Lisa. His words of protest died on his lips; she was holding the remote with a resolute and business-like expression, finger still on the power button.

“We can talk all you want, but I’m not turning it back on.”

“Just for a minute?” Dean pleaded.

“Nope. I’d like to keep my job, Dean. I really like being here with you and your brother.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Dean shrugged and went back upstairs. He bypassed the first floor and went straight to John’s sitting room, punching in 1182 in the entry panel, marveling at how easy it was to figure out the code. His dad used Sam’s birthday for pretty much everything.

He parked himself on the couch and turned on the tv, feeling his stomach turn at the sight of Meg Masters reporting from a driveway. _His_ driveway, actually. Of course.

_Before I send it back to you guys in the studio, I wanted to stress that the media statement distributed only an hour ago made it clear that the party is taking a huge step back from Mr. Winchester, by outright refusing to defend him or even take his side. It almost seems like - and you might have to kind of read between the lines for this one - that Mr. Novak is perhaps even responsible for the quick exit to Philadelphia. One can imagine that he is deeply concerned about his own role in all of this, probably even afraid of how it will impact his career, and is taking steps to mitigate the damage as much as possible._

_What do you mean by responsible, Meg?_ asked a weasley-looking studio anchor as the camera flashed to him. _Surely you don’t mean Castiel Novak is responsible for John’s arrest?_

Meg smiled in a sinister fashion that made Dean’s skin crawl. _It’s possible when you think about why he would suddenly step back from his closest friend of twelve years and act like he doesn’t even know him. We’ve even been advised there was a call between Lucifer and Mr. Novak today to discuss the April 1 vote. Perhaps those two have allied, I don’t know, but it all seems rather fast and suspicious. Like Mr. Novak has already moved on and left Mr. Winchester to his fate. To me, that makes it seem like he knows he’s guilty. Perhaps he’s even cooperating with the FBI, since we know Novak and the FBI met on Friday in his office, right here in Los Angeles. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s seized the opportunity to be the next leader of the Insurrectionists. Who wouldn’t, under the same circumstances?_

_Very intriguing possibility, Meg. You’ve got the studio folks all riled up for more, as I’m sure our viewers are, too. We’ll get back to you soon. Let’s jump to the studio for weather now. The Santa Anas are apparently responsible for knocking down a power line in the Camarillo area and sparking a wildfire that is currently gathering-_

Dean leaped to his feet and slammed his hand down hard on the power button of the television, almost knocking the screen over in the process. He couldn’t breathe, and his hands were numb, not feeling the stairwell railing at all as he raced back down the stairs. The wall rumbled next to him on the landing, indicating the massive garage door opening or closing. Either way, that meant Uncle Cas had arrived at last.

Dean veered into his room, locked the door behind him, and dived under the covers, laying perfectly still as Meg’s shrill accusations repeated in his brain over and over again. Less than two minutes later his heart stopped when he heard Castiel Novak - the _next leader of the Insurrectionists_ \- knock on the door to his room. Dean pulled out his cell phone and called his dad as fast as his shaking fingers could manage.

Two times. Three times.

There was no answer.

The door to the room jiggled a little, then opened wide. Dean pulled the blanket tighter over his head and held his breath.

\-------------------

**Friday night, Philadelphia**

John laid back down in his hotel’s bed and seethed freely for the third hour in a row. He was still beyond appalled at Lucifer’s offer of a negotiator, and had nearly physically assaulted Michael just for mentioning it. Fortunately he kept his wits about him, and carried on the conversation to the bitter end…during which he had somehow agreed to the negotiator - on his own accord, not coerced - and he was pissed as hell about it. But he knew Michael was trying to help, and that was the only saving grace in this situation.

What was worst of all was that his phone had been taken away from him after after Lucifer quickly reported to Michael that John had called him. It was true; John had given in to his curiosity immediately after the tough conversation with Castiel. Rather than submit to charges of contempt and go straight to jail, he agreed to give up the phone in exchange for maintaining his freedom...well, what limited amount of freedom he had, anyway. His hotel room’s phone was taken out, and a guard stationed outside to prevent him from leaving. But as pissed off as he was about the situation, he knew it was better than jail and therefore resolved to make the best of it. Michael had promised to give him back the phone the next morning at 10am, and warned that any further attempts would result in a felony contempt charge.

So now there was nothing to do but seethe, order room service, and sleep. John did plenty of the first one, and even more of the second just out of spite (until he got cut off by the irritated guard), and exactly none of the third. It was a very long night for the soon-to-be former leader of the Insurrectionists.

\-----------

**Los Angeles**

“Dean?” asked Castiel gently, not stepping into the bedroom just yet.

“Mmmph?”

“Uh...dinner is ready. What are you doing?”

Dean mumbled that he was cold, and Castiel waited a few long moments and then walked up to the bed, keeping a respectful distance.

“Come down and eat. The food will warm you up.”

“I want to talk to dad.”

“I do too, Dean-o. We can’t until tomorrow. Come down and eat.”

“My name is Dean," he replied sharply.

“Okay, _Dean_. In a bit of a temper, I see. Shall I have chef bring up a plate for you?”

Dean turned around and peered at the man he suddenly could feel no warmth for. “Chef is supposed to be in Eagle Rock.”

Castiel cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

Dean turned back around and faced the wall, saying nothing. Let him flounder and figure it out for himself.

Castiel didn’t take the bait; he knew exactly what Dean was doing. “Alright, I’ll ask Sam. I know why you’re upset, and you’re right. I should have called. The day got away with me. I didn’t mean to get home so late. Will you come down to dinner?”

“This isn’t your _home_ ,” Dean blurted hotly. “It’s mine and Sam’s, and it belongs to our _dad_. Remember him?”

Dean didn’t even care that Castiel’s expression was at once crestfallen and stunned and hurt. He set his jaw even tighter, resolving to say nothing further.

Cas responded in a strangled tone. “Alright, Dean, we’re going to nip this in the bud right now. Let’s have a talk.”

Dean threw his covers off and sat up abruptly. He absolutely hated the _let’s have a talk_ spiel; it didn’t matter who said it, or for what reason - good or bad. “Sam’s waiting for us,” he grumbled irritably.

“He can wait a minute or two longer.” Castiel sat down on Dean’s desk chair. “Truthfully, Dean, I trip over saying the word _home_ every time I say it when it’s not referring to my house down the street. It’s really awkward, but I mean well. What would you prefer me to say instead?”

That threw Dean off completely; he had been spooling up for a fight and was now being asked for advice instead?

“Say _the house_ ,” he finally mumbled.

“Deal. Now, if there’s something bothering you besides that, and besides the obvious fact that you’re missing your dad, please tell me. I believe open communication is the key to preventing and solving all problems.”

Dean took the ball and ran with it. “Fine. I heard the party was going to release a media statement today in regards to my dad. What did it say?”

Castiel didn’t hesitate; he reached into his pocket and pulled out a paper that had a few typed sentences on it and all kinds of handwritten notes.

“This is what you’re getting all bent out of shape for? Why didn’t you just ask me to begin with?”

“Can I read it?”

“Sure.”

Dean took it as if it were on fire and read it carefully.

_Castiel Novak, interim leader of The Insurrectionists, is obliged to issue a blanket “no-comment” statement for the duration of the trial of John Winchester. Party business will continue as normal, effective immediately. A press conference to discuss the April 1 voting docket will be held on March 25 at 10am PST. This will be followed by twenty minutes of Q &A, led by Castiel Novak and Gabriel Angel. Questions will be screened to ensure they are topical. _

Dean read it three times, then looked up with a carefully blank expression. “What does the _topical_ thing mean?”

“It means that questions not relating directly to the April 1 vote will be ignored because they’re not the point of the press conference.”

Meaning questions about his dad. Dean was feeling hot again. “You didn’t defend dad at all. Why?”

Castiel took the paper back and folded it up, slipping it back into his pocket for safekeeping. He was only slightly mollified to realize Dean hated it as much as he did. That it hurt his own heart as much as it hurt Dean’s, even if it was just a statement aimed directly at the media and not at his own constituents. That would come later and it would be much harder to craft, even with John’s guidance.

“It’s complicated, Dean,” he finally said, reluctantly. “I wouldn’t even know how to explain.”

Dean’s heart suddenly flushed ice cold at that. So it was exactly as Meg had said, after all. Castiel was distancing himself from his dad in order to protect himself. Abandoning him. Possibly he had even been the one to... _no_.

“I’m not hungry, Uncle Cas.” _Uncle Cas._ The words sounded traitorous on his dry tongue. “You should get down to Sam or he’s going to start pouting. I’m going to bed.”

“Alright. You know where the refrigerator is if you change your mind.” Castiel stood up and went to the door. “Goodnight, Dean-o.”

“ _Dean_.”

“That’s right, sorry. Goodnight, Dean.”

Castiel waited for a response and got nothing.

Dean waited for the door to shut, then got out his phone again and dialed his dad in vain for almost two hours.


	63. Chapter 63

 

> **Saturday morning - Philadelphia**

John Winchester finally did fall asleep, but it wasn’t until 9am. He was awakened at 10 by Michael, who wished to return his cell phone as promised.

“Morning, sorry to wake you.” Michael set the phone down on the credenza - after thoughtfully plugging it into the charger he had also taken away - and started to back out of the hotel room again. “It goes without saying that we’ll be monitoring your calls, so…”

“Yeah, I know. Hey, what’s on the agenda for today? For me, I mean.”

“Nothing, actually. You’re confined to the hotel grounds, of course, which shouldn’t be too much of a hardship.”

John smiled a little. “Yeah. I’m sure the public would love to hear how their tax dollars are going towards putting a disgraced criminal up in a five-star hotel for a week.”

“That’s _not_ what you are, and besides, they’re not paying for it. It’ll be billed to the Insurrectionists, of course.”

John recalled all the ridiculously expensive room service he had ordered last night and grimaced hard. So much for sticking it to the man. “Oh. Well, then...you couldn’t have put me up at the Hilton again or something?”

Now it was Michael’s turn to grin. “You’ll have to take that one up with your chief of staff. I was going to put you there, but Castiel threw a fit and insisted on this.”

 _Of course_ , John groaned internally. “Right. I’ll be sure to knock another star off his chart, then.”

Michael nodded, then got serious again as he pointed back at the phone. “I know it’s totally none of my business, but you have quite a few missed calls from your son. About 40 or so. I had to turn the vibration alerts off, it was driving me nuts.”

“I’m sure. Thanks. So when do I have the pleasure of the FBI’s company again?”

“Tomorrow morning. Do you want to go to church?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll be here to pick you up at nine. We’ll spend most of the day going over your deposition and making any corrections or clarifications. Monday will be your day to decide where you want to go next, and the negotiator will arrive on Tuesday.”

John swallowed hard. “Do you know who it is?”

“Yes, but I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.” Michael blushed as he vaguely waved around the room. “You should, uh...try to get as much rest as possible today. I apologize for interrupting your sleep.”

“Mmhmm. Thanks.” John was secretly amused by the fact that Michael was apparently just _now_ finding it awkward to be holding such a serious conversation with one of them half-naked in bed.

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” John said quickly, “Is my guard at this hotel, also?”

“Yes, Benny is next door, room 1147. I know you prefer connecting rooms, but under the circumstances-”

“I know. Don’t worry about it. Thanks.”

Michael left, and John laid back and stared at the ceiling for a long time until he remembered the remark about all of Dean’s missed calls. He waited a few more minutes, then dragged himself into the shower to clear his mind and think about what he was going to say to his kids.

**Los Angeles - Saturday morning**

Castiel hadn’t slept all night, either. He was too busy actively hating everything and everybody, and turning over a thousand different scenarios in his mind - almost all of them dire and bleak. It was almost 8am, and he was no longer able to resist the urge to call John. 11am in Philadelphia; surely the man was awake by now even though he was well-known for his ability to sleep far past the noon hour.

So he picked up his phone and dialed, still somehow not surprised to find himself listening a few rings later to John’s voicemail message. Still asleep, then. He dialed Chuck instead, who picked up instantly.

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t call me sir, please. Did the boys eat?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I said…” _Sigh._ Some things just weren’t worth the fight. “Great, thank you. What’s on their schedules today?”

A slight pause and ruffle of papers. “Dean has therapy at nine for two hours, and Sam has hockey practice at the same time. After that, they’re free. Most Saturdays John would take them sailing after that.”

Castiel groaned. He was _not_ going sailing, end of story. “I didn’t know Sam plays hockey. With who?”

“Well, he has private lessons at the country club. John won’t let him play on a team yet, although he’s quite good. It’s a bit of a security issue.”

The thought of Sam playing a team sport completely by himself depressed Castiel inexpressibly, and he resolved to fix that right away. The boy needed companionship and friends.

“Right. Can you give me a list of all the youth teams in the area and contact numbers for them?”

“I already have such a list, sir. I’ll print it for you immediately.”

“Just email it to me.” Castiel gave his email address. “Listen, I want to ask you something. Last night Dean mentioned that Chef should have been in Eagle Rock. Was that true?”

“Uh, yes, sir. The servants go home on Friday afternoons.”

Castiel bristled a little, but then backed off just as quickly. He didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with this man, who was obviously just trying to do his best under very trying circumstances.

“Okay. You need to tell me these things in the future,” he said, trying his best to keep the statement from sounding like a reprimand. “I’m kind of running blind, here. I have no idea how John runs his household.”

“Sorry, sir. I just assumed...I mean, you’ve known him for so long, and the boys...I thought you would fit right in without any guidance.”

 _Fit right in._ Hardly. “I’m afraid that’s not the case.” Castiel felt himself soften up suddenly. “Listen, let’s have lunch together today and talk about this. I need all the help I can get, and your input will be invaluable.”

“Certainly, sir. What would you like to eat so I can obtain the ingredients this morning?”

“No, I mean at a restaurant. I have a list of ones with private rooms that I’ll email you.”

There was a shocked silence. “Sir, I can’t...I’m indentured, I can’t be seen...it’s not proper.”

Castiel sighed. “I don’t care. Pick a restaurant and let me know so I can call and make a reservation.”

Another shocker. “But I...I’ll make the reservation, of course. Sir, are you sure about this?”

Chuck sounded rather shaky, and even though Castiel detested the indentured system and the societal imbalances it created, he knew he was making the poor man highly uncomfortable and that it would help to take a more authoritative stance.

“Yes,” he amended, “you should make the reservation, of course, and arrange for transportation. Who is the weekend driver?”

“Garth is always here on the weekends for the family. I mean...for you and the boys, sir.”

_The family._

Castiel swallowed hard again. “Great. We’ll eat at noon at King’s Head, if they have a room available. Let me know. Gather whatever lists and information you think is of the highest priority for me to know first.”

“Yes, sir. And what will the boys do while we’re gone?”

_Oh, right, the boys...it’s not just me anymore. Get your shit together, Castiel._

“Have they been to the Getty?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay. They’ll go there. I’ll arrange it with Lisa.”

\-------------

“An _art museum_? Is he serious?” Dean whined as wrangled the polo shirt off over his head and looked for something else to wear, per Castiel’s instructions. “And I have to freakin’ dress up?”

“Not dress up,” Chuck corrected. “But something nicer than a polo shirt. Slacks and a dress shirt will be fine.”

He went into Sam’s room and found the boy already dressed exactly correct, of course.

“I’ve been wanting to go to this place for months!” Sam exclaimed happily. “How did he know?”

“He probably heard it from your dad. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, the car is outside. Have fun.”

Chuck went back into Dean’s room and found him in the same state as before - but now holding clothes in each hand - shirtless, pouting, and in no mood to go anywhere.

“Dean, the car is outside waiting.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going.” He jumped a little as the sound of Castiel coming up the stairs reached his ears. “Chuck? Tell him I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are,” said Castiel gravely as he stood in the doorway. “The shirt you’re holding in your right hand is fine. Put it on, and let’s go.”

Chuck was astonished to see Dean drop them both on the floor and turn defiantly away from Castiel to sit on the bed. “No.”

“Dean,” pleaded Chuck quietly, almost a whisper. “Don’t. Your dad wouldn’t want this.”

“He’s not here,” Dean shot back, glaring at Castiel at the same time.

Castiel, of course, had no idea why Dean had suddenly taken such a disliking to him. It hurt, but he kept a straight face.

“Would you like to come to lunch with me and Chuck instead? We’re going to be discussing how your dad runs the household, and how we should proceed from here on out if he doesn’t return. Your opinion matters, and I’d like to hear it.”

Once again, Dean was completely thrown off by Castiel asking him for his opinion outright, rather than launching straight into a fight. It was so completely different from his dad. But then again, maybe his dad would still be here if it wasn’t for Castiel.

“He’s going to return, so you’re wasting your time,” Dean blurted out, even knowing it wasn’t true. He had somehow already accepted he wouldn’t see his dad again for a while, but it felt good anyway to say he’d be back.

Castiel entered the room and looked at Chuck. “I think we need a moment, if you please.” Then, to Dean after they were alone: “Dean, you know your dad’s in trouble. We talked about this already, and he even told you that himself. I can’t just take over this household without any kind of guidance, whether it’s for five days or five years. You and Sam need stability, and so do I. Now, do you want to go to lunch with us, or do you want to go to the art museum? There is no third choice.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean insisted quietly. Just as he said that, his phone rang with his dad’s ringtone. He bolted away from Castiel and snatched it off the bathroom counter.

“Dad!”

“Hey, kiddo. How are you doing?”

“Not good. Castiel is trying to make me go to an art museum!” Dean whined again.

“Really? The Getty? You should go, it’s really cool. We had a company holiday party there last year. Sam’s been wanting to go forever.”

Dean glanced back at Cas. “Dad, I really want to talk to you... _alone_ ,” he added significantly.

“Alright, call me when you get home.”

“But I don’t want to go.”

John chuckled a little. “That’s what I said, too. Like father, like son. Look, I can’t talk right now anyway. I just called to say hi. When you get home around six I’ll have all the time in the world, okay? Call me then. Don’t miss the room with all the French tapestries. Some of them are over a thousand years old.”

“ _French tapestries._  Oh my god, dad. You’re such a nerd.” Dean smiled, then gave in at last. A thousand years old sounded pretty cool, actually. “Alright, I’ll go. I’ll call you at six, okay? Isn’t that late over there?”

“Nope. I’ll be just starting my day at this rate. Talk to you then, son. Love you.”

“Love you too, dad.”

Dean waited until his dad hung up, then he slowly picked his shirt up off the floor and put it on. Castiel was no longer in the room, and Dean hadn’t noticed when he left. So he walked down to the car alone and shoved Sam over as he got in.

“Hey! Sit in the back, jerk,” Sam protested.

“We can both fit here, bitch,” Dean replied grumpily, with another shove.

“Not if you keep eating as much bacon as you did this morning,” Sam shot back with a firm shove of his own.

"Boys," warned Lisa calmly, although she wanted to laugh instead.

"Sorry," the brothers mumbled together.

The car pulled away from the driveway and into the street. From the passenger seat mirror Lisa pretended not to see Dean suddenly put an arm protectively around his brother and pull him close. Sam squirmed away in silent protest at first, but then changed his mind and went back in for a re-do. Dean draped an arm around him again, and covered them both up to their shoulders with the car’s resident cashmere blanket.

The boys were quiet and still all the way to the museum.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: John is not actually in the jail as an inmate, that's just where the negotiation with Bobby is taking place.

NOTE: THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER CHAPTER 3, when John first meets with Bobby. You might want to go back and refresh your memory as to their conversation. This immediately follows that.

 

**Tuesday, March 28**

**Bridesburg Federal Prison - Negotiating Room**

“Fine. I’m not walking away. I have the official offer here.” Bobby laid out four pages on the table and shoved it through the tiny little crack on the table to the other side of the wire partition. “As the interested party, the Opportunists decide the penalty. If you confess to all charges and agree to be executed, then Lucifer will deed-”

“ _Executed?_ What the holy fuck?” John nearly screeched. He swiped all the papers off the table with both hands and jumped up. Bobby calmly continued

“-as I was saying, Lucifer will deed your sons to my training school for nine months. I don’t have to tell you that I’ll take excellent care of them, but saying it anyway just in case you’ve forgotten how much they mean to me.”

“What about me? Do I mean nothing to you?” John demanded. “I can’t believe you bought into this Opportunists brainwashing shit.”

Bobby stared at him. “I’m not an Opportunist anymore. I’m an Independent who works for an Opportunists-funded organization, like thousands of others. And I’m not here for you.”

John answered quickly, and firmly, gesturing wildly around the room as he did so. “So this isn’t about me, Bobby? Are you serious? This is all about me and the knowledge I have of Lucifer’s crimes. He’s asking me to trade my life for...for...you haven’t seen my sons in ten years. You don’t know them. They won’t even _know_ you _._ Dean might, but Sam definitely won’t. He was only two. And even if Dean does remember, the last time we were together, you had a shotgun pointed at my chest. You think he’s just going to let that go?”

Bobby shrugged. “You do have that effect on people.”

“So I just have to confess to everything, huh? That’s your idea of justice?”

“You’re guilty as sin, John, and everyone knows it. Time to think of the boys now.”

“They’re _all_ I’m thinking about, Bobby! Dean is already 16. I can’t believe you, of all people....no. I’m not signing anything.” John was almost in tears, which is extremely rare for him. “Leave me the fuck alone. Maybe I should have been the one threatening to kill _you_ ten years ago. And maybe I should have done it.”

“John,” warned Bobby in a low tone. “Calm down.”

John fixed him with an astonished expression. “Easy for you to say.”

“This isn’t my doing. This is Lucifer, and you need to agree to it,” Bobby said placidly. “For the boys. You have no other option. You’re already nailed with blackmail and that’s a five year sent-”

“I know that. Goddamn, stop repeating yourself.” John turned his back to Bobby and drummed his fingers on his hips impatiently. “Lucifer isn’t the only one who can propose terms for this plea bargain. I want to talk to him.”

“You can’t.”

“Fuck you. I can, and I will. Arrange it for the sake of Dean and Sam. Or else what happens next is your fault.”

Bobby scoffed. “Nothing you could say would make me think that.”

John turned around, eyed him dangerously, then smirked. “Oh Bobby, you know I love a challenge. So here’s the deal: arrange for me to speak to Lucifer today, or be prepared to live with yourself when my boys are separated forever. Because that’ll all be on you, I guarantee it. I’ll do it. I’ll let this fall apart, just to make a point. I _know_ you. It will _break_ you to have that on your conscience.”

Bobby breathed hard for a few long moments. “You’re a...you haven’t changed a bit, let’s just put it that way.”

“But you have, Bobby. And I hate what I’m seeing. Do the right thing and give me at least a glimpse of the man who I fought with side by side through the years of the revolution. He’s got to still be in there somewhere. I have faith.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve never had faith in anything, jackass.”

The smile was gone now. “Well, maybe I _have_ changed, then. But at least it’s for the better, which is more than I can say for you.”

John sat back down and crossed his arms, glaring at Bobby with conviction and daring.

Bobby sighed. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. For Dean and Sam, not for you.”

\-----

John wasn’t granted the call with Lucifer. He fully expected that and didn’t blame Bobby, however. Instead, he asked to call Castiel and was granted the request. He was taken to a private room in the jail’s offices for the task.

“I want my guard to be on the call as well,” he told Michael firmly. It wasn’t a question. “He’s going to start looking after Castiel now, and I want to tell them both what my next steps are.”

Michael looked at Benny, then nodded. “I don’t see why not. Come with me. You have 15 minutes.”

“Thank you ever so much for your kindness,” John replied facetiously, with a mock bow. “Benny, come on.”

“Boss? What do you mean I’m going to-”

“Shhh.” He shut the door of the little room behind him and watched Michael settle in the room next door, purposefully keeping his back to the glass.

“Give me your phone,” John whispered.

“What? Sir-”

“Your phone. Take mine and call Castiel, but tell him to hold in silence until I’m done with this call. Mute us. Don’t disconnect the line.”

“John, no. You can’t,” Benny protested, having realized in dismay what his rebellious boss was up to.

“Do it, or fly back to Los Angeles today and leave me to fend for myself. Your choice.”

Benny grumbled and rolled his eyes a little, but he finally took the proffered phone and handed John his own.

“Good afternoon,” John began formally a few moments later, not sure whether to be relieved or not that his rival actually picked up the phone. It might have been better if he didn’t. “I hope your day is going a lot better than mine.”

“Holy shit,” Lucifer replied in shock. “You just don’t know how to give up, do you? Goodbye.”

“Okay. Guess you’ll never know what I’m about to tell you, then. Too bad.” John sighed dramatically, then paused as he heard Benny quietly explain to Castiel why he was calling, and he almost missed Lucifer’s reply.

“-balls to call me again?” asked Lucifer in wonder, and not a little admiration. “Only you would think you can get away with this.”

“That’s the goal. My charm and wit goes a long way, you know. I’ll bet you $100 you don’t report me.”

“You know I won’t,” the other man responded, his tone more puzzled than usual. “You’re in enough trouble already.”

“That didn’t stop you from reporting me the first time,” John nearly spat back.

“Well, I was pissed off because I’d just found out Ruby was the one who leaked our info.”

John paused, wanting to scoff at that nonsense, but realizing it would get him absolutely nowhere at the moment. The last thing he needed was to lose the chance to have one final word with Lucifer.

“Are you alone?” John asked carefully.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Obviously. Michael thinks I’m calling Castiel.” John said a quick prayer under his breath. “Look, I know you’re trying to help. The FBI has made it clear to me that without agreeing to a plea with you, this trial will never be wrapped up in time. I understand it was your idea to push it along faster to help out the boys.”

There was the sound of a cleared throat from the other line, twice. “Not exactly my idea, no.”

“Right. Anyway, I just want to know why you’re pushing for execution. Do I really scare you that much?”

Lucifer was obviously incredibly uncomfortable; John could hear him shifting in his chair. “I was advised that you confessing to all charges was the fastest way to wrap up the trial. Some of those charges require capital punishment. It’s an ugly situation John, but you have to admit that you pretty much brought it on yourself.”

John’s heart raced at that. “Ah. So you think I’m guilty, then. Corporate espionage, Ruby’s murder, that big whole list.”

“I’m not sure about Ruby’s murder. I’ve asked for it to be removed from consideration. But everything else? Absolutely. I have no doubt. If I did-”

“Of course you’re not sure about Ruby,” John laughed harshly. “Because _you_ did it. You, and Uriel, and some unknown motherfucker in my organization-”

“John-”

“-and I think you’re afraid I’ll find proof of it. That’s why you want me gone. I see right you through you, my friend. You’re more transparent than Saran Wrap.”

Lucifer ignored this line of questioning and went a different direction entirely. “Let’s forget about Ruby for a moment. I’m doing what I’m doing to help your sons, not you. I don’t care what happens to you.”

“You don’t say.”

“But I’m willing to sweeten the pot a bit if it helps.”

“How on earth do you sweeten a pot of shit?” John asked with another dark chuckle. “The answer is no, I’m not agreeing to a fucking thing. You’re scared because you _know_ my informants gave me a lot of ammunition. I may be making you a plea bargain of my own if they can get their dossier together fast enough. But if not. Castiel will take you down for me, and he’ll have all the time in the world to do it. You are just as fucked as I am, my friend.”

That seemed to set Lucifer back on his heels, and John heard his quick intake of breath. “Okay, John. You like to say you’re a realist. So let’s get real. Even if I dropped my case and went down on charges myself, the FBI isn’t going to stop their pursuit of you. Five years in jail, _minimum_ , John, for what they’ve proven already.”

“I’ll take it. Maybe you and I will be cellmates. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Lucifer’s tone went dark; he was no longer in the mood for John’s bullying. “Fine. Let me put it another way. Let’s see what happens if you don’t agree to a plea. Take me out of the picture entirely, John, and your boys go away for life because the FBI cannot wrap this up by March 31. But I can get it done with this plea bargain. Dean and Sam? I’m their savior. You should be _grateful_ that I’m offering to trade your life for theirs. Not threatening me.”

“You’re right. I’ll send you a thank you card from death row.”

Lucifer ignored that, his blood now boiling. “And to get more _real_ \- you know who forced me to pursue the blackmail charge on you and offer a plea bargain? Michael. I wanted to do this in civil court. He is literally the reason we’re talking right now. When this all came up, I was only looking forward to suing you and making a nice chunk of change from that tape.”

John’s throat went dry, and his lungs started to hurt. “That’s bullshit,” he croaked without conviction.

“No, it’s not. But everything you’ve said is. I’m done with this conversation. Goodbye.”

“W _ait_ . Just...wait.” He was relieved to still hear breathing on the other line. “What is this... _sweetening the pot_ you were talking about?” he asked quietly, carefully.

A long pause in which John was afraid Lucifer had cut the connection, then a heavy sigh. “This has to remain between you and me. I can’t put it in writing...but I guarantee you I will transfer Dean and Sam’s deed to Castiel after the one-year waiting period.”

No answer.

“John?” Lucifer pressed after a minute.

“I’m here. If you’re feeling so charitable, why don’t you just transfer them to him right away?” he asked skeptically.

“You know why. Castiel is under investigation, too. If he gets hit with a felony…and even if he doesn’t, the courts can pull it back. It honestly makes no sense for me to do that, regardless. The public will see it as a bribe to get you to plead guilty, and the last thing I need right now is another PR nightmare at the hands of the Insurrectionists.”

John closed his eyes and suddenly felt like a runaway train was barreling straight at him. “Fuck me, this is out of control. You know what, though? If you hadn’t given them that tape recording, I’d still be free!”

Lucifer refused to feel guilty about that. “For now. You’re lucky I did. As I said, Michael knew it was the only way to-”

“What else do they have on me?” John asked offhandedly. “I mean...this is…”

“Have you not seen the list of charges yet?”

“Of course I have.” John rubbed his temples. “So I’m fucked, is what you’re saying. You think Castiel won’t be approved.”

“Correct. The courts can’t risk it. I have nothing to do with the Castiel issue, so you can take that up with him.”

Lucifer was right. John felt like he was going to throw up. He had to agree to the plea.

It was over.

It was well and truly over.

He was going to die within the week.

“Okay, so…” John took a deep, steady breath despite the jangling of his nerves. “You do realize you’re going to turn out to be the villain in this scenario, right? The public is going to hate you. And the Opportunists.”

“No. The terms of the plea bargain will remain confidential for ten years. That’s one of the caveats. Your kids are stuck with me for a year, whether you like it or not.

 _Stuck with Lucifer._ Well, considering Castiel’s cavalier behavior lately, this might be the better option, John thought darkly.

“So what happens to them during the twelve months?”

“Already worked it out,” Lucifer continued brightly, heartened by the fact that John was finally seeing the light. “They can go to Bobby Singer’s school for 9 months, then work for three months in a home of my choosing. After that...well, they become Castiel’s servants for the next 19 years. And we both know he won’t treat them like actual servants.”

John rubbed his temples yet again. “I can’t believe this shit.”

“John, even as much as you hate me, you know I would _never_ do anything to harm your children. They’ll be in good hands.”

John knew it was true, as much as he hated this man. “What kind of school is it?”

“House servant training. Top tier, safest bet there is. And it will keep them together for the entire term of their indenture...even if something happens to Castiel.”

“That works,” John said quickly, not really believing this was even happening and that he was even speaking such words. His eyes were still closed, his head throbbing in pain. “But I want their deed to go to Bobby. Not you. And I want this entire agreement in writing. Verbal is not enough.”

Lucifer was puzzled. “Bobby _Singer_? That’s, uh...under what rationale?”

“Under the rationale that I don’t trust your sorry ass.”

“And you trust _him_ that much?”

“With them, I do.” It wasn’t quite the truth; John didn’t really trust Bobby either, but he was enormously worried Lucifer would lose the deeds if he was taken down by Castiel and Gabriel. Not if... _when_. Because after his best friends found out about his death and figured out what had gone down in Philadelphia, it was over for Lucifer, too. Bobby was the safest bet.

“That makes no sense. I’m the one who’s trying to help them,” Lucifer added, still puzzled.

“They go to Bobby, or you can hit me with another blackmail charge in about five seconds,” John threatened icily, although it was all for nothing, really. His informants had almost nothing at all to go with, to his great disappointment. But Lucifer didn’t know that, so he wasted no time grabbing at the opportunity to get them out of the picture.

“Agreed, then. Looks like I picked the right negotiator after all.”

John was silent for a long time, and Lucifer didn’t prompt him.

Eventually Lucifer said, “Well...I’m going to revise the draft of the plea bargain and send it back to Michael for your review. I hope you take it, John. There’s not much time to keep fighting about it.”

“You’re telling me. Before I go,” John continued, “I’m going to give you some priceless advice for free: get rid of Uriel. He’s been playing you like a fiddle all along. Dump his ass now, or you’re going to be next to fall.”

“Really. And what evidence do you have, exactly?”

John cut him off firmly. “Let’s just say I’m so certain he’s behind this, that I don’t blame you for this situation. I’m not even mad. Ten years ago when I visited Uriel in prison, he vowed to do the same for me. Now he’s come to collect on that promise. My time is up.”

“He... _what_ are you talking about?” Lucifer queried, genuinely bewildered.

John ignored the question. “Good luck if you decide to ignore my warning. You’re gonna need it.”

Lucifer closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “John, just so you know. I never wanted-”

The line disconnected, and Lucifer slowly opened his eyes to the sight of the phone trembling slightly in his hand. In the background, through the glass, Uriel slowly came into focus. He was standing by the coffee maker with Zachariah, bantering and grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Lucifer watched him for a long moment, then pushed the dark thoughts aside and pulled up the plea bargain document on his laptop.

\-----------------------

“John?” prompted Benny quietly. John took his phone back with a gulp and hung up on Castiel without a word.

“Benny...I...”

“This is bullshit,” Benny said plainly, and he yanked his phone out of John’s hands and left the room angrily. John followed him silently, feeling like a child trailing an angry parent. Michael was waiting at the table, watching them curiously.

“May we continue?” he asked calmly. “Or do you two need a minute?”

“We’re good,” said Benny tightly, ignoring the piercing glare John shot him. “I’ll go back out the lobby if there’s nothing else.”

He didn’t wait for either man to answer and simply walked right out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

“Okay then,” Michael said after an awkward pause. “You wanna go after him, or-“

“No. Thanks.” John sat down hard and dutifully handed his phone to Michael, who scrolled through the call log. He spotted the 7-minute call to Castiel, and handed the phone back.

“Thanks. On second thought, bring Benny back in here please.”

“Why?”

“Just do it. Now, if you please.”

John got up, his heart pounding. What the hell was Michael going to... _oh, shit._ He stuck his head out the door and Benny came in immediately, still ablaze with fury.

Michael stood up and put a hand out.

“Your phone, please.”

Benny threw him a blank look. “My phone? Why?”

“I want to see the call log, if you please. Although it’s not actually a request.”

John sucked in his breath and struggled to keep a neutral expression.

“Yes, sir.” Benny reluctantly dug his phone out of his inner pocket and handed it over.

“Thank you,” Michael said, somewhat sheepishly. He scrolled through the list very briefly, and then handed it back. “Sorry, I’m just doing my job. Thank you.”

Benny nodded and left after cocking an eyebrow at his boss. John was astonished that Michael continued the conversation as if nothing untoward had occurred...it just wasn’t possible that he hadn’t seen the call to Lucifer. It was even more impossible for him to ignore it, if he had seen it.

John could hardly concentrate on Michael’s words as he was escorted back to the portico into a waiting car, and during the long ride to the hotel, he kept his face carefully expressionless in order to not give away that he was royally pissed off with the man for forcing Lucifer into this situation...even though he was doing it to help John.

John was immensely relieved to finally be dropped off at the hotel and glanced at Benny with a look that clearly said “follow me, “ but he was ignored. So instead of going to his own room, he boldly followed Benny into his and slammed the door behind them.

“If you have something to say, just say it,” he challenged irritably.

Benny threw his boss a glare that all but set the room on fire. “Actually, no. I have zero desire to talk to you right now.”

“What the hell?” John exclaimed in surprise as he followed his guard to the far side of the room, running both hands through his hair in frustration all the while. “Then just answer one question and I’ll go. How did Michael not see that call?”

Benny was breathing heavily as he continued to throw eye daggers at his boss. “Did you really not know that I carry two phones? One for work, one for personal?”

“No. I didn’t know that.” The realization then hit him like a brick in the face, and his heart raced a little as he stared at Benny’s back. “Oh, shit. So you handed him the wrong phone.”

“The _right_ phone, you mean. You’re welcome.”

John’s head was swimming a little. Actually, quite a lot. His tongue felt three times thicker than usual, too. It was a close call... _way_ too close.

“Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. Benny, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your-”

“Don’t bother, John. I quit,” Benny said simply, without any heat.

“Benny!” John gasped.

Benny crossed his arms and kept his tone steady. “You acted unethically and put me in danger - and not the physical kind, which is the _only_ kind I agreed to when I signed up for this job. So I consider this a breach of contract and expect an appropriate severance package.”

John had never known Benny to be even half as angry at him before, and he was shocked into speechlessness at this declaration. He held up his hands in a _seriously_? gesture and stared open-mouthed, feeling indignant and crushed all at once.

Benny was suddenly outwardly serene again, but an emotional explosion was simmering just below the surface as he crossed the room to the other side and yanked his suitcase out of the closet. “I’ll stay here long enough for my replacement to arrive. Who do you want me to send over, sir?”

“Deveraux,” John croaked after a moment. “I’ll arrange it. You need to relax.”

“I’m fine, and I’ll take care of it. He should be able to make the 9pm flight and be here by dawn.”

John felt his heart rise into his throat and stick there nauseatingly.

“Thanks.” John noticed his hands were shaking, which irritated him even more. “You’re right, I acted in an unforgivable manner. But may I ask why you’re so furious that you want to just walk away? It seems out of proportion, no offense.”

Benny did not waver. “Because I couldn’t remember which pocket held which phone, and nearly had a heart attack on the spot trying to remember. It was sheer luck I grabbed the right one, but if Michael finds out what I did...like I said, I didn’t sign up for this.”

He turned and jerked opened the suitcase and laid it open on the bed. John kept quiet for a minute while the man angrily threw all his belongings in, then spoke again quietly during a break in the furor.

“I’m sorry, Benny. I accept your resignation, since you insisted. But please reconsider. We’ve been friends for six years; don’t let it end like this.”

“No, I’m your employee and nothing more. _Former_ employee, as of tomorrow.”

 _Ouch_ , John thought with a sharp pang to his heart. It was a well-deserved jibe, but still. He softened his tone down to one he almost never used, except with Dean when he needed soothing.

“Hey,” he began impulsively, hesitantly. “Stop what you’re doing for a second and talk to me. _Please_. It’s important. Just...one more minute of your time is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.”

Benny did stop, obviously deeply concerned about John’s unusual pleading tone.

“Yes?” he asked with a visible degree of trepidation.

John wandered over the bed and sat down, defeated and tired. He reached back to grab one of the pillows and put it over his lap as if it could offer some kind of comfort and protection.

“Listen, Benny...I, uh…” His voice cracked briefly and he had to take a moment to regroup. “I’m not going home. This is it.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

John gripped the pillow tighter. “I need…I’m _asking_ you to stay and take really good care of Cas. Please.”

Benny wasn't moved. “He has his own guard already. As for that conversation with Lucifer. I only heard part of it, not enough to piece together all that’s going on. But it sounded to me like you were negotiating a prison sentence with him.”

“Yeah, I was,” John lied.

“Prison,” Benny repeated flatly. “You said you were innocent.”

“Look, it’s complicated. I can’t get into it. But this trip to Philadelphia has turned a one-way ticket, and that’s the ugly truth. Will you stay with Castiel? He will need you. I’ll have your contract turned over to him tomorrow if you agree.”

Benny just stared, his body at a complete standstill and his face frozen into an expression of disbelief.

John stood up and gently put the pillow back in place. “I’m sorry, this is a lot to take in without warning. I’m truly sorry about the phone thing. Honestly I had no choice, though, and I’d do it again if I had to. Hate me if you want, but it’s the truth. Let me know in the morning what you decide.”

Benny cleared his throat twice before responding.  “I don’t need time. The answer is no. But with your permission I’d like to stop by and say goodbye to the boys tomorrow.”

 _The boys. Oh god_. John had no intention of telling Benny what was going to happen to them; obviously the poor man hadn’t heard enough of the conversation to realize the deeds he kept referring to were Dean and Sam’s. He must have thought John was referring to transferring the house servants, since everyone on the planet knew that Castiel was the Winchester boys’ next guardian.

“Of course you can see them. And visit them whenever.” John was suddenly exhausted. “But don't bother calling Devereaux. You and Jack can fly home together tomorrow at noon. I won’t be needing a guard or a lawyer any longer than that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be mad at Benny. He's just reacting the way anyone would when their idol falls from such great heights so unexpectedly. His story doesn't end here :)


	65. Irony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for hanging in there with me. I love you all. A few more chapters left to go now...

**FBI Headquarters - FBI**

**Tuesday evening**

It wasn’t often that Michael was left dumbfounded by new developments (after all, six years on the front lines in the Army tended to leave one nearly immune to surprises in later life), but he was entirely numb after he read Lucifer’s plea bargain. Bela was in a meeting, so he picked up the phone and called the leader of the Opportunists after he was finished digesting the new terms. Well, perhaps _digesting_ was the wrong word.

“Lucifer. Michael. Listen, uh...what on earth went down between Mr. Singer and John? I’ve just read his alleged agreement to these terms.”

“Not alleged,” Lucifer corrected. “He did agree to them, and those were the amendments he wanted.”

“How do you know that? I just left him an hour ago and he hadn’t made any decision yet. He made it clear he had no interest in continuing any further negotiations with you.”

Lucifer cleared his throat roughly; being just as forbidden to talking to John as the reverse, he wasn’t willing to admit his part in the affair.

“Well, maybe he just needed time to think.”

Michael set his coffee down hard, the realization behind’s Lucifer’s caginess slamming him in the chest like a kick. “You two did talk. I _knew_ it. And you told him.”

“Told him what?”

“That I’m behind this. You did. Or Bobby Singer did. Don’t lie. That’s the only reason why he would have clammed up on me so quickly, and with such hostility. Because he never needs _time to think_ , as you put it. The man makes massive decisions at the blink of an eye, always has. You know that.”

Lucifer swallowed hard. “I told him nothing. Bobby might have.”

“Bullshit. I can see right through you, even over the phone.”

“No, you can’t, because you’re wrong. Can we please go over the document now?”

Michael threw the papers down. “Oh sure, no problem. You just want John to die, is all. No big deal, let’s just get it over with, huh?”

“Did you just call me to bitch me out, or are we going to get some actual work done here?”

“We’re not doing a damned thing until you tell me if you spoke to him today. Yes, or no?”

Lucifer gritted his teeth. “No. Why don’t you ask him, if you’re so sure? You know he can’t lie.”

“You’re correct. Hold on.”

Michael pressed down the hold button with an angry jab, then set the phone on the desk and got up to pace his office. The truth was, he didn’t want to confirm that John and Lucifer spoke. If he didn’t hear it directly, he didn’t have to report it. He waited a few minutes to give himself time to breathe and calm down, then picked the receiver back up again.

“Alright, you two didn’t speak. My apologies. Let’s go over these terms, one by one. Starting with the corporate espionage confession...”

\------------------------------

**Hilton Philadelphia**

**Late evening**

Bobby Singer couldn’t sleep. John hadn’t changed a bit, no. But his comments about the way _Bobby_ had changed was really driving him to distraction. The two men had lived one of those dangerously special kinds of friendships, where they each knew too much about the other. That was never a good position for two men of strong opinion and fiery temperament. As such, they had parted ways ten years ago knowing they were equally doomed if one turned on the other. So they hadn’t done that.

Until now...Bobby had been the one to turn on John this time. He had reason; the man broke every law in the spectrum and had somehow become a bigger asshole than he was before. Hell, he’d even threatened to separate his own children just to make life all that much harder for Bobby. John deserved to go down.

So why couldn’t Bobby Singer sleep? He didn’t want John to die, for the boys’ sake. Their grief would ultimately lie at the feet of the man who convinced John that death was the right decision. And that man was Bobby. So he knew, even now, that his own life would forever be plagued with the guilt he had been so desperately trying to avoid earlier today.

John Winchester had won. Again.

He didn’t know at this time, of course, that it was all Lucifer’s doing. Or more accurately, Uriel. He wouldn’t find out for a while; it would be months before his world turned upside down for a third time. In the meantime, he emptied the contents of his hotel room’s minibar and finally passed out asleep at 4am Wednesday morning.

\----------------------

**Ritz-Carlton Philadelphia**

**4am Wednesday morning**

_I don’t wish for you to blame yourself in any way. I’m not convinced that the Insurrectionists are on the right path, and it would-_

John scratched out these sentences for the fourth time and began again.

_The Insurrectionists, under my direction, has lost our way over the past year. I’m counting on you to bring us back to a place where we can think again of the best interests of all citizens, not just our own constituents. While I wish for Lucifer to be removed at your hands, you cannot let the effort obsess you and-_

Obsess you. No...preoccupy?

_-overtake your efforts to re-establish a firm hold on proper morals and ethics. Therefore, it is under my express command that you hold off from-_

John tore up the entire paper and sighed in frustration and anger. This flowery language was not his specialty, and he needed to be more direct with this particular recipient, who wouldn’t be impressed by being forced to read between the lines. He grabbed a fresh sheet of paper, and as an afterthought exchanged his black pen for a blue one in the hopes that would somehow help sweep away his writer’s block.

_Cas,_

_I’m sorry we didn’t get to speak again before my death. Honestly, I wouldn’t have known what to say. That I fucked up? That you and the boys have to pay the price for that? That I probably destroyed everything we’ve accomplished? How do I even possibly start to make amends? The answer is retribution, with my own life. Forgive me for taking the coward’s way out._

_I know the Insurrectionists are in good hands with you and Gabriel, but you have to keep in mind that bringing down Lucifer isn’t your first priority. Getting us back to a position of trust and esteem must take precedence over everything else. Your constituents are counting on you to put them first. Hell, the entire nation expects that. And you_ _must_ _put them first. Always._

_When you get custody of the boys on April 1 next year, be prepared for them to be very different than they were before. Dean’s going to be angry. Sam’s going to be even angrier. They may hate you. They will probably hate me. All I can say is, they love their Uncle Cas and will come around eventually. Have patience and treat them with more understanding and gentleness than I ever did. Dean will test you until you’re ready to have a nervous breakdown, and Sam? Well, he’s young. He has no filter and no stop button. But you do. Use them generously._

_In my plea bargain agreement, which is sealed for ten years, I took all responsibility for the recent errors in judgement you committed under my watch. That's why you were pardoned unconditionally. Just don’t make any further mistakes, because I can’t protect you a second time._

_That being said, always remember that none of what happened to me was ultimately your fault. I chose to live my life on the razor’s edge, and always knew the consequences could be dire. I’m at peace with the knowledge that my legacy will live on through the great things you and I accomplished together over the past decade._

_Farewell, my loyal friend. See you on the other side..._

_John_

_PS_

_Really gotta work on your people skills. Still rusty._

John didn’t read the letter a second time for errors or clarity. He couldn’t. His eyes were tired, and rapidly filling up with moisture. He folded up the paper and carefully slid it into the envelope, but didn’t seal it yet. Michael said he would have to read it first to make sure nothing in it would cause further legal problems with Castiel.

Setting that letter aside, he swung his chair around to the other side of the desk and picked up the plea bargain that had been delivered by courier almost 6 hours ago. He’d hadn’t signed it yet, because he was planning to demand to meet with Bobby one more time in the morning. He’d say it was for a clarification, but in truth, he just wanted to be able to confront the man about his part in this and rub salt in the wound one last time.

Eventually John realized he didn’t want to read that either and folded it up, too, forcing himself to stop thinking about all of this for at least a minute. So he took a shower and started to go to sleep as the sun was just starting to tug at the very edges of the horizon.

Then he realized he might not ever have another chance to see that sight, so he dragged himself to the reading chair by the window and watched Philadelphia transition from black and white into full color.

Anyone else would have winced at the thought of Independence Hall being the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes to rest, but John always did appreciate the black humor in such irony. There was a smile on his lips as he drifted off to sleep in the big fluffy chair that reminded him fondly of the one at the office Castiel had hated so much and threatened to torch in Gabriel's front yard. 


	66. Chapter 66

**Insurrectionists Headquarters**

**Friday, March 31**

\-----------------------

“Castiel... _Castiel_.” Jo waited a moment more, then cleared her throat loudly. “Mr. Novak.”

“ _What_?” Cas looked up from his notebook at last. He was in a rare temper, and everyone at the office had been afraid to set foot within 20 feet of him all day. Even Gabriel.

“A gentleman is here to see you. Won’t tell me his name, but he says-”

Castiel stood up upon spying a familiar face peeking around the corner at him. “Thank you, Jo. Come in, Michael. Shut the door. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”

“I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

Michael sat down, looking for all the world like he would rather be anywhere else. Inside of an active volcano, perhaps. Castiel’s heart dropped a little.

“What news of John?” he demanded roughly; John’s comments on his rusty people skills were the last thing on his priority list right now.

“Nice to see you, too. Alright, let’s get down to it. I can’t tell you anything unless you sign a confidentiality agreement that binds you and the Insurrectionists organization to permanent media silence on the topic of John’s trial and outcome.”

“Permanent!” exclaimed Castiel furiously. “That’s bullshit. What kind of idiot yahoo thought I would agree to that?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “I did, or I wouldn’t have flown all the way out here. Calm down, Mr. Novak. You need to come with me. My car is waiting-”

“No. I would show you out, but I’m very busy. Goodbye.”

Michael fully expected this; his tone remained steady and placating. “Fine. I can see you’re under a tremendous amount of stress and not open to suggestion. So let me switch to facts. If you _don’t_ come with me, you’re going to be very unpleasantly surprised and confused when you get home. Show me out, please.”

Castiel fixed him with an icy glare. “You know the way.”

“Do it anyway. I won’t ask again. You might want to pack up for the day.”

Castiel froze, hearing the warning in his tone. “Will I...will I be able to come back tomorrow?”

“ _Yes_. You aren’t being arrested. My sincerest apologies if I gave that impression.”

“But the boys are expecting me home in an hour-”

“ _Castiel_ ,” Michael snapped as he stood up, not willing to argue any further. “Let’s go.”

There was something in his tone now that made Castiel comply, despite every desire to the contrary. He remembered John’s words from a recent conversation: _Michael has always been a friend to me...do as he says_. So Castiel got up reluctantly, gathered his things, put on his coat, and quietly walked the man out the door and down the hallway to the elevator.

Michael whispered. “We’re going to John’s house. Just get in the car and don’t make a fuss. Don’t even talk. Understood?”

Castiel stared at him, bitterly swallowing the automatic protest. “Yes, understood.”

“Thank you.”

\-----------------

Castiel was not just unpleasantly surprised when they arrived at the Winchester house; he was astonished. Every single member of the household staff and guards were waiting at the door in terrified silence. He spun around to Michael in bewilderment as they walked down the long hallway to the study.

“What the hell is going on?” Castiel demanded in front of the entire FBI entourage that had followed them into the house from three different cars.

“We’ll talk in a moment,” Michael replied coldly as he reached into his jacket pocket. “This conversation will be recorded for the protection of both of us. Will you come with-”

“ _No_.”

“Come with me, Mr. Novak. My group will stay out here.” Michael all but shoved Castiel into the study and then slammed the door behind him, after which he hissed forcefully, “ _I’m on your side, for fuck’s sake!_ _Cooperate, damn it._ ”

He then set the recorder on the table with a flourish and jammed down the red button while glaring dangerously at Castiel.

He raised his voice so it could be heard through the door. “Castiel Novak, I hereby inform you our conversation is now being recorded until I return to my car. You almost must sign this agreement before I can say anything more. Do you understand?”

“Yes, we’re being recorded. Got it. I’m not signing a damned thing. What’s going on?”

Michael closed his eyes to the pain that was throbbing behind his eyeballs, and lowered his voice to a normal level. “If you don’t _sign. the. agreement. I’ll have to leave_.”

“Goodbye, then. Thanks for the ride home.”

Michael inched the paper closer to Castiel and raised an eyebrow. “At least read it first. If you still don’t agree, I’ll go without another word.”

Castiel read the two paragraphs and was surprised to realize he didn’t disagree with the reasoning behind the demand. The FBI simply wanted to control the messaging themselves to prevent both parties from savaging each other in the press. It wasn’t a bad idea at all.

“Will Lucifer have to sign this, too?”

“He already has, and he wasn’t happy about it either. But do you understand why we’re asking for this?”

Castiel grabbed a pen and scrawled his name much larger and messier than normal.

“I have to admit it does make sense. Alright, I signed. Now talk.”

“Thank you. Three days ago, John pled guilty to all charges. His sons are being indentured for twenty years as of tomorrow at noon. Do you understand?”

Castiel’s jaw fell open. “I……no. What? Are you serious?”

“Dean and Sam were taken into the FBI’s custody about an hour ago. That’s why we’re here.”

Castiel was thoroughly appalled. “You just...you just came in and _took them_? Without notifying me first?”

“We had to. John wouldn’t agree to it any other way.”

Castiel sat down hard. “He _agreed_ to this? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said, realizing at the same time how much he sounded like John in that moment. “This is…I can’t...did he leave me any kind of explanation for all this?”

“Yes, actually. You’ll be summoned to Philadelphia on June 15 to personally retrieve a letter he wrote you. I will also have more information to release to you at that time.”

“Why would John make me wait so long?” Castiel asked mildly. The fight in him was suddenly gone; he just wanted to talk now and was desperate to wake up from this nightmare.

“I can’t say. I have on me the original paperwork John signed to transfer the boys’ deeds to an anonymous party operative, as well as a copy of the charge sheet where he signed his name next to the guilty plea. You may view the documents now if you’re in the right frame of mind.”

Castiel shook his head; not to say no, but in sheer disbelief. “He didn’t do a damned thing. This was coerced out of him. Wasn’t it?”

“A plea bargain is mutual coercement, technically. I think what you’re asking is how do you know this signature is legit? That he wasn’t under duress, or under threat if he didn’t sign?”

“Yes,” Cas answered shortly. Bitterly. “Exactly that. Show me, please.”

Michael did. “You will see they are all co-signed by myself and the president, as well as Bela Talbot. The very reason I brought them with me was to assure you he wasn’t forced into signing.”

Castiel parroted flatly as he handed the papers back, “So you’re telling me the boys are…for twenty years...”

“Correct. Now, as you know, deeds can be transferred after one year, but until then they will be taken to a completely confidential location. Only five people will know where they are, and you cannot change that.”

“Oh, really?” Castiel replied sarcastically.

“Yes, really. I realize you could probably figure it out with all the people you know. But the terms of that confidentiality agreement you just signed strictly prohibits you from trying. Indirectly, that is.”

Castiel looked down to the paper, feeling silently enraged again.

“Now on to my final topic,” Michael continued quickly, “The FBI has dropped our investigation on your part in all this, and it won’t be reopened.”

Castiel was eerily calm. “I had no part in this. Did you assbutts even investigate Uriel at all, or was that too much to ask?”

Michael stiffened. “Furthermore, you are expressly forbidden from retaliating against the Opportunists or the FBI in any manner whatsoever. Retaliation means a lot of things, including the refusal to be civil in official communications.” He shifted his glance to the paper Castiel was still holding. “You may keep a copy of the confidentiality agreement for your records, and show it to Gabriel and Charlie if needed. No one else is permitted to see it.”

Castiel turned around to the copier and made 2 copies, then handed the original back while the fury in his heart converted rapidly to black despair.

Michael looked down again at the recorder. “I know that your next question will be regarding John’s sentence. I can’t tell you that either, but it’s in his letter. You’ll know on June 15.”

Castiel leaned over to the device and spoke directly into it. “This is bullshit. You should all be ashamed of yourselves for letting an innocent man and his sons get separated for twenty years.”

“Noted, thank you,” Michael replied dryly, a bit shocked at the outburst. “Make sure to memorize the terms of that agreement, because even one slip-up will send you to jail.”

“So the boys are no longer in Los Angeles?”

“Well, yes. They’re on the plane, waiting for me. We’re taking them to their father first, of course, so he can say goodbye. His sentence begins tomorrow at noon.”

“I refuse to believe John actually agreed to any of this,” Castiel muttered stubbornly. 

Michael shrugged. “I don’t blame you for that, to be perfectly honest. But his letter should help ease your concerns.”

Castiel scoffed. “Well, then. I would suggest you hurry up and join the boys on that plane. The faster, the better.”

Michael cocked an eyebrow at him, but didn’t react otherwise to the rude dismissal. “Goodbye, Mr. Novak. We will be in touch.”

He reached over to shake Castiel’s hand silently. Castiel took it for some reason, he didn’t know why. He secretly preferred to strangle Michael. But the man quickly transferred a small, folded square of paper to his hand during the gesture, then left. Castiel stood there dumbfounded, watching the security cameras until the three black cars disappeared out the front gate. Then he sat down hard and yanked open the piece of paper, accidentally tearing it in half from haste.

_I believe John’s claim that he was framed. We will talk more on June 15 when you come to get the letter. In the meantime, if you quit, or piss off PH and get yourself fired (or worse), I won’t get approval to investigate Uriel’s possible hand in all this. Be patient. I need time to think and plan how to proceed. Your silence and perfect obedience to me and PH from now on is critical. -M_

Castiel numbly read it a few times, then went upstairs and sat down on Dean’s bed, absently scratching the bellies of the boy’s two dogs as he pondered the note. “PH” meant President Hendrickson, and it would take very little to piss the man off. He and Castiel actively disliked each other from their first meeting, and had never bothered to make any effort to get along. John was always hopeful the two men would finally click whenever an occasion put them in the same room; even trying to seat them next to each other every year at the White House’s Reunited Day Dinner. He had finally talked the butler into it last year, but then Castiel had deftly swapped his nameplace card with someone else’s mere seconds before everyone sat down. Castiel smiled at the memory of his little trick. John hadn’t even been mad; he was too busy being impressed by his friend’s ninja-like stealth and determination.

Starsky and Hutch soon fell sound asleep upside-down, and Castiel reached down between his legs to massage Angela’s neck for a while. He didn’t know what to do next, and was still feeling nothing over the loss of John’s freedom. Or that of Dean and Sam’s. But he knew himself well; his tendency towards delayed reactions never meant lesser reaction. This apathy was merely the calm before the storm. The guilt, regret, and million questions would rush into his psyche all at once, and he was on the verge of being extremely miserable for at least a week.

When the intercom rang to announce dinner, it broke him out of his reverie at last. He peeled the dogs off his lap, hungrily ate the meal Chef had prepared for him, and asked Garth to drive him to church afterwards. He wanted to pray for John, and the boys, and even for Michael. Especially for Michael, maybe, he mused as he sat down in a pew and closed his eyes.

That was the plan, anyway. But the dam broke early and hard, and he ended up praying mostly for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's clear that Michael is purposely being vague with Castiel in order to gain his cooperation. If Cas knew what John really agreed to, he'd lose his shit and Michael would have no chance at befriending him in order to help the boys.
> 
> The boys will return in the next chapter, sorry to have kept them out of the story for the past few updates. I felt it necessary to shift away from them for a while in order to focus on John before he...well, you know. Yeah, that. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and HAPPY NEW YEAR.


	67. Take a Bow

**Friday night, March 31**

**Philadelphia**

In a way, the last ten days had been the happiest of the Winchester boys’ lives. Their father may be all the way across the country, but he was acting how the boys thought all dads acted - meaning, not like a dictator. That’s how he was on the boat every time they went sailing, and the boys loved it.

They’d all talked on the phone for hours. The man had a terrific sense of humor, who knew?

But now they were all in Philadelphia again, and Dean in particular was dreading the possibility that the new warmth and love they’d heard over the phone would evaporate in person.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Hey dad!” Sam called happily as he rushed out of the towncar and into his father’s arms.

“I’ve missed you. So glad you’re here. Get any sleep on the plane?”

“No. Dean slept the entire way, though.”

“That figures. Come on, let’s go to the room. What’s taking him so long to get out of the car?”

Sam shrugged. “He’s probably asleep again.”

John released his youngest, then went to the car and stuck his head in.

“Hey Dean. Put the Game Boy down and come out.”

“I don’t want to.”

John clambered into the car and motioned Sam to wait with the driver.

“I know you’re mad at me, but don’t be a brat. There’s only-”

“I’m not a brat,” Dean protested sullenly.

John reached over and took the gaming device gently out of the boy’s hands. “I’m really glad to see you. You know we only have 14 hours. I explained this on the phone. Let’s not spoil it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, because you don’t want to say goodbye. Neither do I. But that’s not until tomorrow. So let’s go get some room service and watch tv for a bit.”

“Why did Benny quit?” Dean blurted abruptly, and John’s heart stopped beating for a moment.

“Because he thought he wouldn’t be needed anymore and got his feelings hurt when I asked him to join Castiel’s team.”

“You didn’t fight, did you?”

“Of course we did. I was really mad he wanted to leave, and I got my feelings hurt, too. There was some yelling. But leaving is what he wanted, so I wished him the best and said goodbye. Don’t let that change your opinion of him. He’s a really good man and deserves to be happy.”

To John’s great relief, Dean accepted that explanation readily. “Oh. Okay.”

“Let’s go upstairs. I’m cold. And there’s Boston cream pie on the room service menu.”

That was enough to convince Dean, and John climbed out after him with a grin.

\---

At 3am, Dean woke up with a gasping, violent start. His dad quickly came over to the bed and sat down next to him, speaking in a soothing tone and putting a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Dean, you’re with me in the hotel in Philadelphia. You okay? Sit up for a minute.”

“You’re awake, dad?”

“Yeah. Sit up. What were you dreaming about?”

Dean searched his mind. “I was dreaming...something about Castiel, I don’t remember.”

“Hmm. Anything to do with why you’re being so mean to him?”

“Mean? You’d be proud, dad. I’ve never been more polite to anyone in my life.”

“That’s not what Sam says. Go back to sleep and we’ll talk again in the morning.”

Dean laid back down. _Shit. So much for the new warm and fuzzy John Winchester._

\---------

It was 7am and Dean was slowly shoveling sausages into his mouth while Sam slept on the other bed, drooling all over the bedspread. Their dad was sitting on the desk chair, absently rubbing Dean’s neck and back as he talked.

“You can’t misdirect your anger like this. He didn’t do anything, and doesn’t deserve the way you’re treating him.”

Dean bit his lip. He hadn’t yet admitted what he heard on the news, about Castiel being responsible for all this. His dad would certainly be furious, there was no doubt; maybe he’d even ask Castiel to punish him. So Dean had said nothing over the past week. He spent his time carefully avoiding Castiel altogether, only responding to him with exceedingly polite _yes, sirs_ and _no, sirs,_ and not letting the man get within three feet of him or offer any comfort whatsoever.

“Dean?” prompted John. “What’s gotten into you? Did he do something to upset you?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t have any feelings, dad. He’s a robot. Maybe that’s why Benny left.”

John actually laughed out loud, and Dean looked at him sideways. “Why is that funny?”

“Oh, if you only knew, Dean. He’s quite the character, isn’t he? Look, I...there’s something I really need to tell you before Sam wakes up. Are you done eating?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, put the plate down and let’s go into the living room.”

Dean got up and stretched, feeling like he had just swallowed a brick. There were only five hours left until his dad was going to leave them for a year, and his stomach churned again as if he had eaten live snakes.

“Sit down, kiddo. This is, uh…” He put a hand on Dean’s knee and stayed silent for a few long moments. Dean felt his adrenalin suddenly course through his body like a racecar on the track.

“What, dad? You’re scaring me.”

John looked up, and his eyes were a little wet. “I don’t want you to live with Castiel just yet. He’s going to be way too busy as the new leader of the Insurrectionists, and won’t have enough time to raise you the way I want. I’ve decided to send you to a boarding school in Virginia.”

Dean’s expression was blank. “Just...just me?”

“You and Sam,” John amended. “You’ll stay there for a full year and no one will know where you are. You’ll never have to worry about the Insurrectionists, or photographers, or news people trying to invade our lawn, or anything like that. It’s a very safe environment.”

“Okay,” Dean answered, not really upset about the news yet.

“The thing is, Dean...you’re going today.”

“Today?” Dean exclaimed.

“Today,” John repeated. “I’m going to jail at noon, as you know, and at that time you’ll be driven down to Richmond. It’s about four hours. It’s a training school, actually.”

“For what?”

This was the hardest part of all, and John wasn’t even sure he could ever get the words out.

“It’s...just remember you’re there for your own safety and security, and you’ll be with Sam.”

Now Dean was really alarmed. “A training school for what?” he repeated loudly.

“For house servants. You and Sam both have-”

“We’ve been _indentured_?” Dean shouted.

John stood up now, too. “Yes, but only temp-Dean, calm down and let me talk.”

“Dad!”

“Dean, _quiet._ Stop shouting. There’s no reason to panic. I need to tell you all the details of what my-”

Dean ran back into the bedroom, grabbed his coat, and slipped out the door. He took the emergency exit stairs and bolted into the lobby and out into the street. John and his guard didn’t catch him in time.

Five hours later, the FBI came to collect their prisoner. Dean hadn’t been found yet.

They took John anyway.

 

**THREE DAYS LATER**

**Insurrectionists HQ, Los Angeles**

**Monday morning, April 3**

“Cas?” called Gabriel nervously as he knocked on his boss’s door. “Got a minute?”

Castiel shut his laptop and pulled himself back to the present. “Yes. Come in.”

Gabriel visibly nervous and subdued. “You skipped church yesterday. The media is having a field day with it. Meg, in particular. She’s practically glowing.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should, because John’s going to kill you when he finds out.”

“He won’t find out,” Castiel answered coldly, and Gabriel looked like a deer caught in the headlights as he sat down and crossed his legs one way, then the other, then back again.

“Alright. Well, Amelia just called me. The boys haven’t shown up for homeschool yet, and none of the guards are answering the phone at the house.”

Castiel said nothing and reached aside to grab his “World’s Okayest Co-Worker” mug. The tea scorched the roof of his mouth painfully, but he didn’t flinch. _Let it burn,_  he thought miserably. I deserve it.

Gabriel watched him closely, knowing he had to tread very lightly if he was going to get out of this conversation unscathed. “Wow. Finally using the mug I got you like six years ago, huh? I don’t know if I’m more surprised by that, or by the fact that you’re drinking tea.”

Castiel turned the cup around so the design was facing away again. “More like world’s worst,” he grumbled. _Uh-oh_ , thought Gabriel. Castiel beating up on himself was rare, but always a very bad sign.

“Oh…so….John went down, didn’t he?” Gabriel asked quietly. Castiel got up to lock the door, then stared out the window, not wanting to look at his friend’s face for fear of starting a new grief cycle all over again. He steeled himself and spoke normally.

“John pled guilty and was taken to prison. The boys are now indentured and were removed from the house on Friday.”

Gabriel was stunned. “Excuse me? The boys were supposed to go to you. That’s why they rushed this trial in the first place. What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know anything except that it was his choice. He wrote me a letter which I’ll receive on June 15. I’m hoping he can explain himself then. Maybe we’ll speak on the phone, eventually. For now, I...”

 _...I don’t want to talk to him ever again._ Castiel mentally pushed back the nearly overwhelming fury he felt towards John for the incomprehensible decision. He wished he could see him one more time, just to throttle him into confetti.

Gabriel said nothing for a long time. Castiel heard some sniffles, so he turned to hand over some Kleenex and waited some more.

“Alright,” Gabe finally said. “So what now?”

“Michael had me sign a confidentiality agreement. I want you to sign it, too.” He went to sit down, took the paper out of his pocket, and read it out loud.

“Permanent silence?” Gabe shot back angrily. “I’d have thought you would rather quit than agree to those terms.”

“I may dislike the president, but he’s smart enough to realize that without this agreement, our parties wilI spend months tearing each other apart instead of doing our jobs. I only wish he would have some the same for John so that he could never have instigated the problems we still have with Lucifer. It’s a smart move.”

Gabriel was shaking his head. “Cas...I don’t feel the same. I can’t agree to this. Ask me for my resignation if you have to.”

Castiel handed his colleague a pen. “You’re not quitting. You’re going to stay and help me get this organization back on its-”

“Cas, why would you-”

“- _back on its_ feet again. That’s going to take both of us. We’ll still have say in what the FBI releases. We just can’t release it ourselves. Tell me how that’s unreasonable. Don’t you dare threaten to quit on me again. You hear me?”

Gabriel looked up, startled into awed silence.

“Sign it,” Castiel repeated firmly, before there was time for another protest. Castiel’s expression was unreadable, but his voice was like a thundercloud of hell about to break loose. Gabe had never heard that tone of voice before, and it shook him. So he took the pen and signed, vowing to bring the subject up again later when he might not lose his closest friend over it.

“Now,” continued Castiel in his normal tone, “first things first. We need to get our accounting staff back into the office. The books are going to be a mess if we don’t. Can you facilitate that for me?”

“That’s...it’s more of a Human Resources thing, but yes. I’ll get it started.”

“Good. Thank you. And then I need you to gather up the latest-”

“ _Wait_ , Cas. Please. For god’s sake, at least give me five minutes to process this clusterfuck before you throw me back into the fray.”

Cas set down his mug and frowned. “Sorry. I’ve had three days to think about it and all I want to do now is talk about something else.”

“Understood. Just bear with me a little longer. You _know_ John was framed, right? Can’t we do something?”

Castiel thought again about the papers he’d been shocked to find in John’s safe on Saturday. That was something he could tell his friend about, and it might help him move on.

“Michael said we can’t. It’s done. There’s something else I have to tell you. You’re not going to like it.”

Gabe looked crushed. “Oh, god…what? I’m afraid to know.”

“Well, you need to hear it. I found out on my own that John’s informants were making photocopies of proprietary Opportunist documents for him. At least one, anyway, but it was a big one. I found it in his safe. That would explain why he always refused to tell us who his contacts were.”

“Holy shit. What was it?”

“A first draft of the lawsuit Lucifer filed against him. In Lucifer’s own handwriting, along with all his side notes and remarks.”

The hair on the back of Gabriel’s neck rose and practically crackled from tension and fear. “Oh, fuck...Cas…that’s political espionage, plain and simple.”

“Yes. There’s zero chance it was planted, because John put his own notes all over it, too.”

Gabe breathed in deeply and felt like crying again. “Jesus, I’ve never felt so torn in my life. Who knows what else they took. Do you still have it?"

“Yes. I want to hold on for it a little bit, in case John appeals.”

“Appeals his own guilty plea? For god’s sake, Cas, you’re not thinking. Get rid of it now before the FBI finds it. Nothing it says is going to help him now, if it didn’t already.”

“But if Michael knew about it, he would have told me to open the safe while he was standing five feet away from it. He didn’t, so he doesn’t know.”

Gabriel went pale and clammy. “What if they show up with a search warrant? Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. How can you be so calm? You know what, it’s not even safe to be telling me this. You...you _really_ shouldn’t have told me that.”

Castiel shrugged. “Like I said, I thought the knowledge that he was guilty of at least some of the charges would help you move on. It has for me. And I think it’s important for you to know how much I trust you. Want to grab some breakfast with me?”

“No. I mean...thanks, but I need some time alone because I’m disturbed by how cavalier you’re being about about this. Seems like you don’t even care what happened to Dean and Sam,” Gabriel accused, even knowing he wasn’t being fair. Castiel wasn’t exactly prone to emotion even under the roughest circumstances.

“Gabriel...you of all people should know what the last three days without them has been like for me. But right now I have a lot of work to do. I’m going to the cafeteria. I hope you can pull it together by the time I get back.”

“Depends how long you’re gone,” Gabriel replied with a shrug as he got up and left. He was very upset, and Castiel knew he had to change tactics quickly or his friend would walk out the door and not come back.

_Gotta work on your people skills, Cas. Still rusty._

————-

**Philadelphia, Monday afternoon**

**FBI Headquarters**

Michael rubbed his eyes as he fought with a terrible case of writer’s block. Not that he didn’t remember everything that happened, of course, but he had difficulty articulating it properly without breaking out into a fit of righteous indignation and accusations. This was an official report for the president, and he had to stay professional.

_The prisoner was taken to Bridesburg Facility and the execution postponed indefinitely, approved by Bela Talbot. Approximately 90 minutes later Dean was located by municipal police in the parking lot of Oregon Diner in South Philadelphia._

The part after that was were he had re-written his account at least four times already.

_Dean was taken by police car to Bridesburg Facility and met by me, whereupon he refused to get out of the car. Mr. Winchester was informed of this predicament, and did not grant me permission to force Dean to exit the vehicle. A phone call was proposed as an alternative, but Dean again refused and became emotional. Bela Talbot instructed me to ensure Dean was not having a panic attack, which he said he was not._

Michael had to get up and walk around his office for a few minutes. He hated everything and everybody for what happened next.

_After approximately 30 minutes, at 2:07pm, Dean exited the car on his own accord and requested to be taken into the facility to say goodbye to his father._

Michael wiped his eyes.

_They embraced for approximately two minutes, during which less than twenty words were exchanged. No time limit had been given; they broke apart on their own accord. Dean left willingly and was taken back to the hotel by police to rejoin his brother._

“Fuck you Lucifer, Uriel, FBI, and everyone else involved in this bullshit,” Michael said out loud. Then he put his pen to paper again, reinvigorated by a bitter energy he had never felt before.

_John Winchester was executed by lethal injection at 4:00pm after reciting his final words to myself, Bela Talbot, and Bobby Singer (3rd party negotiator). Please find attached the transcription of this statement._

Five long pages, single-spaced. It had been a hell-raiser of an impressive speech, too, and one which could easily start a third revolution if it got into the wrong hands. The man knew how to get a message across, to say the least.

_I returned back to FBI Headquarters rather than the hotel as planned, as the emotional toll of this day exhausted my ability to continue. Bela Talbot proceeded to the Ritz-Carlton on my behalf. The Winchester boys were transported to ISTMS at 6:00pm and arrived at 10:02pm._

The report wasn’t perfect, and would have to be expanded a little for more clarity, but Michael stopped there and thought about John’s speech again. He had taken a copy for himself, and already knew that when the investigation of Uriel was over, he was going to be calling Castiel and asking for a job with the Insurrectionists.

_\-------------_

**MONDAY EVENING**

**Insurrectionists HQ - Los Angeles**

Castiel walked into Gabe’s office and shut the door behind him.

“Gabriel...we need to talk about what happened between us this morning. I don’t want to leave it until tomorrow.”

“Me either. Please sit down.”

“Thanks. I should have just told you it wasn’t a good time to talk in the first place. I have so much going on. I still need to explain to the household, or rather, _not_ explain where the boys are. It’s not going to go over well, so I’ve been putting it off. John’s guards are totally in the dark too and getting on my case every five minutes for updates. Benny quit last week, by the way.”

“Benny _quit_ ? _Benny,_ of all people? Why?”

“No idea. He left John alone in Philadelphia and came to say goodbye to the boys while I was at work. Sam told me.”

“What a dick!”

“I’m not sleeping well,” Cas continued tiredly. “The dogs are anxious about the boys missing and won't eat. I’ll have 11 servants to get rid of, and almost all the guards. Not to mention two huge houses to be emptied and sold, and a boat, and cars. All the while settling John’s personal financials and running this organization in a new role I don’t feel qualified for, under the threat of jail time for making one mistake by saying something I shouldn’t. My nerves are totally shot. I’m almost past caring about anything but me right now.”

Now Gabriel was softened up, too. “Can’t blame you for that. Good god. I’m sorry. By the way, you _are_ qualified. There is no one else who can do this.”

“Thank you for saying that. Maybe I’ll believe you one day.” Castiel ran a hand through his hair. “I’d like you to sign a one-year contract. I’ll double your pay if you do.”

“Jesus, Cas!” Gabriel breathed shakily. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t do things just for money.”

“Then what’s it going to take for you to stay?”

“Who said I was leaving?” Gabe exclaimed.

Castiel spread his arms out and made a vague, all-encompassing gesture to include the entire building. “Why on earth would you _want_ to stay? Do you have any idea what we’re in for when the press figures this out? It’s just a matter of days before everyone starts bailing on me, employees and constituents alike.”

Gabe was shaking his head slowly. “I don’t get it. Remember what you told me this morning? You literally said _I think it’s important you know how much I trust you_. And now you’re all but bribing me for a contract? What happened between then and now?”

“I realized leaving is the smartest thing to do. The safest. I would if I could.”

“Then why don’t you?”

Cas pursed his lips. He couldn’t say that Michael told him he can’t quit, but he wanted to so desperately that it physically pained him. “I want to stay and continue John’s work.”

“I don’t believe you. You want to stay behind to take down Lucifer and Uriel.”

“That would be a nice bonus, but no. I can’t touch them, at my peril.”

Gabe got it now, and his heart started to hurt, too. “I see. The FBI is forcing you to stay. For how long?”

“I don’t know. For longer than I want, certainly.” Castiel looked broken for a moment, and Gabriel suddenly felt the need to do absolutely anything to help his friend feel better. They had come so far together, why not keep going a little longer?

“Alright,” he agreed, forcing out a cheerful, casual tone. “If you’re that determined to be stuck with me, I’ll sign a contract. Draft one up, but don’t change my pay. It wouldn’t look right. Just buy me dinner at Yamashiro and we’ll call it even.”

“Yamashiro? It might cost me less to double your pay,” Cas remarked humorlessly.

“Most likely, yes. I do want a certain clause included. One that says we work together as true partners. I want to know everything that’s going on with this organization. Also, you have to take my advice if I think you need rest. You drive yourself too damned hard. It’s not sustainable, and god knows no one else is remotely qualified to run this ten-ring circus if you work yourself to death.”

Castiel nodded. “Alright. Fine. Whatever.” He looked irritated, like he was going to argue, but he didn’t say whatever was on his mind. Instead, he reached out to shake hands. When Gabriel took it, Cas then stepped forward and pulled Gabriel into a tight embrace. It was brief, but significant and unprecedented.

“Hugs now too, huh?” Gabriel joked as he wiped away new moisture from his eyes and stepped back. “I might have to upgrade that mug of yours. Hey, Amelia is making dinner now. Want to join us?”

“No, but thank you. I’m not in the right frame of mind. We’ll talk tomorrow. Go be with your family.”

“Cas...I know it always makes you uncomfortable when I say it, but you _are_ part of my family, and there’s always a place at our table for you. When you’re ready, of course.”

Castiel blushed a little, as usual.

“I can’t. I really need to meet with the household tonight. They’re a mess. It’s not fair to leave them hanging any longer.”

“Oh. What are you going to tell them?”

“Well, I’m letting go of all the guards except Devereaux and Toby. Then I’ll tell the servants that they’re going to be freed. All of them are more than halfway through their terms, so now I can legally cancel the rest of their sentences.”

Gabriel was stunned. “Cas, there’s a massive penalty for owners to do that. Eleven of them at probably a hundred thousand a piece...that’s more than your house cost.”

“It’s not a money issue. I intend to abolish this whole system, and who better to set an example than the new leader of the Insurrectionists?”

“Wait, wait. With all due respect you’re being completely unrealistic. Our party is _responsible_ for this system. You were one of its biggest proponents! A quarter of our constituents have servants of their own.”

“But only about 5% of Lucifer’s. Gabe, I’m not talking about abolishing it overnight. We still have three years before we can even publicly _suggest_ revoking the law. I’m talking about you and I being the drivers of a steady, gradual shift towards abolition. The program started as an alternative to prison overcrowding. It’s quickly on its way to becoming full-on slavery again with every new vote.”

“It’s what our constituents want. You are paid to represent _their_ interests, not yours. And they’re going to be very confused with why you’re suddenly changing trains now...or worse, just claim you’re doing it only for Dean and Sam.”

Castiel didn’t budge. “They can claim whatever they want. Deed holders are in the minority. So we’ll focus on the majority.”

“In theory, yes, but...I don’t know if it’s possible, Cas.”

“Exactly. You don’t know. So why not try?”

Cas sounded so much like John with that statement.

“But considering our biggest supporters are the wealthy with huge households, this might be the end of both our careers if we succeed.”

“God, I hope so. I hate this job.”

Gabriel sighed and gave up. Castiel’s logic and persuasive skills were not quite as irresistible as John’s, but he had learned a lot from the man over the years. “Okay, fine. Why not. Does this mean I have to get rid of my servants, too?”

Castiel fixed him with _that_ look. “What do you think?”

“Right. How about I allow you to tell that one to Amelia yourself?”

“I will if you insist, but as her husband it seems you-”

“Cas, I was joking. Just...let me know what you decide, so I can look into the costs.”

“I’ve already decided.”

Gabriel smiled a little, feeling both dread and warmth at the same time. “Why do I have the feeling you’re going to be more of a hardass than John Winchester ever was?”

“That would be a difficult feat, and one that I’m not interested in accomplishing.”

“Can I bring back my favorite chair, then?” Gabe joked hopefully.

Castiel looked at him askance. “That hideous fluffy thing? Absolutely not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...as promised, no tricks. John is really gone. But Castiel does not know, and neither do the boys.
> 
> In the next chapter, The Insurrectionists battle the consequences of John's downfall, while Michael seeks approval to investigate Uriel, and the boys adjust to their new life.
> 
> There WILL be an upbeat ending to the story so please don't abandon me now, we've come this far...


	68. Dig Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter starts 3 days after John's execution, and ends about nine weeks later (I noted the time shift in the middle)

**Wednesday afternoon, April 4**

**FBI Headquarters - Philadelphia**

“I’m just saying, it’s complete bullshit,” Michael muttered to as he walked to the President’s office with his boss.

“You’d better use different words to Henriksen,” Bela said quietly. “That’s not saying I’m disagreeing with you, but-”

“I know,” snapped Michael, then he backed off just as quickly. “Sorry. It’s...it’s not your fault.”

They walked into the antechamber and found the president already standing there, looking grim. He beckoned them both wordlessly into his office, and Michael handed over the sealed report.

“Sir, it’s all in there as requested.”

“Thank you,” Henriksen responded with a sigh. “An ugly business, for sure. I don’t want either one of you thinking for a minute it was your fault. We all tried to talk John out of this, so if you’re a failure, then I’m a failure, too.”

Michael glanced aside at Bela and took a deep breath. “I just...sir, it seems…”

“What? Speak freely.”

“Yes, sir. In my humble opinion, it’s unconscionable that we aren’t telling Castiel he’s getting Sam and Dean in one year. Not to mention keeping that from the boys themselves. And who’s going to break the news of John's death to them? I just feel so wrong about this whole thing.”

“Sit down and let’s address all that,” the president replied mildly as his hand hovered over his intercom. “Is this a tea or coffee kind of day for you?”

 _More like whiskey, actually._ “Neither, sir, thank you. I think we should tell Castiel. It will help keep him in line and out of trouble, and screw what Lucifer wants. It’s cruel.”

The president shook his head. “It was written in the plea agreement that he wouldn’t be informed, period. John agreed to it.”

“Because he had to,” Michael replied, keeping his tone level. “His kids were being used as weapons against him. He would have signed anything!”

The president looked at Bela, then back to Michael. “Lucifer was rightly trying to protect himself. If the public knew, they would lynch him. Hell, Castiel himself would probably lead the mob.”

“It’s cruel,” Michael repeated, not as angrily this time. “We should tell Castiel anyway.”

The president smiled a little, but there was nothing sinister in it. “Michael, let me cheer you up a little. I’m going to order a full investigation of Uriel. Do you really think Lucifer will help us if we break the terms of that agreement within days of signing it? He would not.”

Michael’s heart leaped a little, and he was much happier suddenly. “Help us? You think he would?”

“Considering he’s the one who asked me to do it, what do you think?”

Now Michael sat up very straight. “Oh, _fuck_. Sorry, sir, I mean...he...he _asked_ you?”

Henriksen nodded. “You want to take it on? You can have it, but you need to keep yourself together and be objective. Can I count on you to do that?”

“Yes, absolutely. A hundred percent. On what grounds does he base his suspicion?”

“Instinct, for now. I said it wasn’t enough at first, but I’ve had a few days to think about it. Give yourself a week to get a plan together, and in the meantime I’ll call him and let him know.”

“Jesus Christ,” Michael murmured as he glanced at Bela again. Her eyes were wide, clearly she was hearing this all for the first time as well.

“Sir,” Bela put in, “Are we going to tell Castiel that we’re investigating Uriel?”

“No-”

“We have to,” Michael said quickly. “He’ll quit if we don’t.”

“No, he won’t,” Bela interjected quickly.

“With all due respect, he absolutely will. I don’t trust him to stay quiet, confidentiality agreement or not. He’s a martyr, just like John. Maybe worse, because he’s the opposite of impulsive, and he’s going to stew about this and eventually get himself thrown in jail on purpose just to bring attention to what’s happened. We'll never see it coming. And that’s going to destroy his chance to have custody of the Winchester boys.”

Henriksen looked alarmed. “Are you certain of that?”

Michael nodded. “I would bet my career on it. We need to tell him now.”

“I completely disagree,” Bela said politely.

“You’ve only met him once. I know him, and John warned me about it several times, too. He was extremely worried that Castiel would fall on his own sword.”

The president held a hand up. “As the FBI, your first duty is to the investigation. But as human beings, our first responsibility is to those boys. Michael, you can tell him. But if he breathes a word of it to anyone else, I will put him away for a long time _and_ cancel the investigation. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

The president dismissed him, and Michael had to fight his legs to go slowly and not carry him in a flat-out run to his office.

\------------------------------------------------

Michael wasn’t wrong about Castiel at all, even though the man hadn’t mentioned the J-word in days, and he was barely on speaking terms with Gabriel over it. Their last conversation had ended in a bitter fight about how fast one should move on from such a tragedy.

Gabriel had to bite his tongue as he walked down the hallway to his boss’s office with a new article in hand. There was nothing more he wanted than to quit, and it pissed him off that Castiel had so quickly introduced a contract for him to sign in order to keep him from doing it. If he had known his friend thought so little of John, or that they would be unable to get along for more than 30 seconds at a time, he would have never signed.

 _Knock, knock._ “May I come in, boss?” he asked politely.

Castiel was searching for something in his closet. “Come in,” came the muffled reply. “Hold on, just looking for my phone charger.”

Gabriel waited by the desk with newspaper in hand like he was a soldier standing guard. Castiel found the item in question and went to plug it in, making no effort to speed up the process or make any kind of greeting as he sat down.

“What is it?” he finally asked.

Gabriel placed the newspaper in front of him. “I know I don't have permission to talk about John, but what about Dean? Look at this. Someone took a photo of him and the caption says the police were after him. We’re going to get a ton of questions about this.”

Castiel lifted the paper, feeling his stomach turn nastily as the sight of Dean standing alone at a crosswalk in an obviously bad part of town, looking completely lost and scared.

“What the hell?”

“There’s no context or date to it, and it’s so blurry that this paper didn’t confirm it’s him. Obviously we know it is. What do you make of it?”

Castiel studied it harder, having no earthly idea what it meant. He automatically reached over to his phone and dialed Michael.

“Castiel? Wow, I was just about to call you.”

“Why? Is it about this photo?”

“What photo?”

Castiel swallowed hard. “Where is Dean?” he demanded. “This says the police were after him, and he’s standing alone on a corner in the snow. It’s an article in the Denver Post.”

“Oh. Yes, Dean ran off when he was in Philadelphia on Saturday. We found him, he’s safe now. Look, I’ve got to tell you something.”

“ _Was_ in Philadelphia? Where is he now?”

“Castiel, he’s fine. You’re not to ask about him again. Remember our agreement?”

“I want proof he’s safe, or I’m talking to the press and you’ll have to arrest me. Call me back when you have it.”

Castiel hung up the phone angrily.

“What the fuck was that?” Gabriel asked hotly. “What did he say? You know you can’t talk!”

Michael called back immediately, but Castiel sent it to voicemail.

“Gabriel, I-”

“Now he’s calling me,” Gabriel blurted in a slight panic as he yanked his phone out of his pocket. “I can’t ignore it, Cas.”

Castiel took the phone and answered it himself. “What do you want?”

“If you hang up on me again, we’re going to have a serious problem. Do you understand me?”

“We already have one. I want this photo explained, and I want proof Dean is safe. This says the police were looking for him.”

“They were. They found him. He’s _fine_. I can’t tell you anymore than that, and you know I wouldn’t lie to you, nor would the president.”

“You, no. But I don’t trust Henriksen as far as I can throw him.”

Long pause. “You need to pull it together, Castiel. I have news on the Uriel front.”

“What?”

“We’re launching an investigation of him, right now, directed by the president. The same president you just disrespected so thoroughly. He approved it over Bela’s repeated objections, all because I said _you_ were totally convinced of Uriel’s interference and could help me prove it.”

Castiel was frozen in his spot, hands and face tingling from anxiety. “I see.”

Michael was furious now. “Henriksen is your boss now. Not John, and he’s _not_ the enemy. I expect you to act accordingly and treat him with respect at all times. Is that also understood?”

“Yes,” Castiel responded coolly. “My apologies.”

“Thank you. Dean is fine.” Michael was much calmer now. “He got over-emotional and left the hotel for a short time, and got lost, but we brought him back in time to say goodbye to John. There was no panic attack or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I was,” Castiel admitted quietly, greatly relieved to hear the story behind the picture.

“One last thing. You are not to breathe a single word of this investigation to a single soul. If you do, it will be canceled because then it’s considered tainted. I’ll update you as much as I can. Goodbye for now.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said as he hung up the phone and handed it back to Gabriel.

“What’d he say?”

Castiel didn’t answer; he simply reached into his desk and pulled out the original contract Gabriel had signed. “I release you of this contract,” he said simply as he ripped it in half, and then into quarters.

“Cas? What are you doing? Why?”

“Because I can no longer keep to my side of the agreement.”

“Since when?”

Castiel looked at the phone meaningfully. “You can draft your own severance package and I’ll sign it without argument.”

”I don’t understand,” Gabe prompted somberly.

”Our agreement said I have to keep you in the loop on everything. As of right now, I can no longer do that. You may leave whenever you wish.”

Gabriel paused, considering it, then discarded the idea as he clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Nope. You’re stuck with me. Want to go get a beer?”

Castiel covered Gabe’s hand with his own, and then gently peeled it off. “You still don’t understand. This is...I can either be your friend, or be your boss. I can’t be both at the same time.”

“Fine. Then you’re my boss from 8am-6pm, and my friend from 6pm to 8am. Now they’re not at the same time.”

“You know that’s not what I mean!”

Gabe spread his hands out in a ‘no duh’ gesture. “Yeah, I do. But don’t take the coward’s way out, Cas, and just kick me to the curb like this. You’re better than that.”

Castiel considered this. “We’re just not aligned at all, it’s not going to work. I...my feelings about John are complicated. I’m angry at him, I’m sad, I’m everything in between...mostly angry. I just don’t want to talk about him, or the boys. It doesn’t mean I don’t care. Can you accept that?”

Gabriel nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I hear you.”

"Then stop arguing with me every five seconds. I can't make a move without your disapproval, and it's driving me crazy."

"Oh, really? Have you noticed I can't even blink without you glaring at me? I'm not the one who did this to John, Cas. Don't take it out on me."

The two men stared at each other for a little while, then Castiel backed down.

“Alright. Let’s move on. Sorry, but I’ll have to take a storm check for the beer.”

“ _Rain_ check, Cas."

"And I'm going to take the rest of the week off. Unless you have any objection?"

"Of course not. I'm glad. Please get some rest.”

"Call me if you need anything."

"You too, thanks."

\------------------------------

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

**Denver, Colorado**

**June 10, 1995**

Lucifer picked up the newspaper again and read the paragraph three times over:

_In a shocking revelation brought forth by inside sources, it was discovered that the leaders of the Insurrectionists have collectively paid almost two million dollars out of their personal funds to cancel the deeds of 14 household servants. Additionally, all contracts the Insurrectionists held with the state to employ indentured labor on their campus grounds have been breached and paid off. What this means regarding the organization's stance on the Indentured Servants Laws is unclear, but apparently we won’t be seeing any more tightening of the leash under those articles. Sources say both men have now hired back several of those former servants and laborers for hourly pay and full benefits. We are working hard to confirm this and will report again tomorrow with any updates._

“Holy shit,” Lucifer breathed to himself quietly as he picked up the phone and dialed the leader of the Insurrectionists. As expected, Castiel didn’t pick up. In almost ten weeks he never had, nor had he answered any emails. It was almost as if the man refused to acknowledge that Lucifer existed at all. Michael hadn’t interfered, either, and basically told Lucifer to put on a pair of big boy pants and shut up about it.

He left another voicemail anyway.

“Castiel, Lucifer here. Still need to know if you want to work together on the July 1 vote. It has some measures in it related to the indentured servitude laws, as I’m sure you know. This is strictly business. Call me back when you have a moment.”

\----------------------

**Los Angeles, California**

**Insurrectionist Headquarters**

**Same day (June 10)**

Castiel was sitting at his desk alone, drinking green tea and tapping the desk incessantly with his silver pen as he read. The July 1 draft measures were out, and it was going to be a bold move to oppose them. His thoughts were interrupted by the face at the window, and he pressed the button on the desk to open the door.

“Hey. New office looks good on you,” Gabriel said with a small smile. Charlie slid into the office behind him.

“Thanks,” Castiel responded blandly. Moving into John’s office had all but made him an emotional trainwreck at first, but now he found it comforting.

“A courier was just here,” Gabriel said, changing the subject quickly, and he handed two envelopes to Castiel. “I brought Charlie in because the first one concerns the July 1 measures. Lucifer sent a handwritten note to request we cooperate with him. Says you aren’t returning his calls and emails.”

“Correct. But yes, we need to work with him. Charlie, let’s talk later. I’ll need you to lead this charge. Maybe 9am tomorrow, if that works.”

Charlie nodded and left. When the door shut behind her, Castiel looked at the other envelope.

“Gabriel, I...I know what this is. And I don’t want to open it.”

“You have to.”

“Open it for me?” Castiel asked as he handed it back.

Gabriel ripped it open. “It’s a summons to report to Philadelphia to retrieve John’s letter. You were expecting this.”

“I know.”

“You have to go.”

“I can’t. I’m going to ask Michael to let you go get it for me. Are you okay with that?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No, Cas. I think this is something you need to do yourself.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” Castiel grumbled angrily.

“We haven’t fought in two months, and I’m not going to fight you now. I’m _asking_ you. Please go do this. It’s what John wants. Maybe you’ll even get a chance to talk to him and hash this out.”

Castiel rubbed his temples about a dozen times before responding. “Will you go with me?” he asked quietly. “Please?”

Gabe put the letter into Castiel’s hands, and nodded. His eyes were wet suddenly.

“Of course I’ll go with you. I’ll make the arrangements and coordinate with Michael myself. Private plane?”

“Yes. Email Chuck, he’ll handle it for us. I don’t want anyone else to know.”

“Okay. We’ll get through this together, Cas.”

“Thanks, Gabe. Wait...before you do anything, I think I’m going to take you up on that rain check I got back in April for a beer.”

“Sounds good. I’ll go pack up and pull the car around back.”

————————-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Michael lied to Castiel about the reason for the investigation. He needed to gain Cas's trust and cooperation, there was nothing sinister about it.


	69. Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel handles a particular bit of news very poorly.

**Philadelphia**  

**June 15, 1995**

It had been four hours since Michael quietly led Castiel to his most private conference room and handed him the letter. Four hours...that’s what it took for Castiel to recover from his rage and let Michael know he was ready to talk.

The man had led him into his office and sat Cas down gently, knowing this was going to be a horrifically ugly confrontation. And also knowing there was very little he could do to offer comfort.

“I’m so very sorry, Castiel. There’s nothing I can add to the letter. At least not while the investigation of Uriel is still ongoing. Once that’s over, you’ll get the uncensored version, and you’ll know what I know about the boys.”

“The investigation, that’s right,” Castiel said flatly - sarcastically, rather - as he folded up the letter and put it into his inner coat pocket. “How is that going, by the way?”

Michael cleared his throat. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about it yet. It’s been ongoing for about six weeks now. We don’t have anything solid yet.”

“You haven’t asked for my help on anything,” he responded bitterly. “I thought you said the president wanted you to work with me.”

“Castiel, _please_ don’t do this. Don’t turn on me again. I’m overwhelmed as it is, and getting animosity from you won’t help matters. I’m completely on my own. I can’t even summon Lucifer and ask for his help.”

Castiel didn’t back down. “So...when it’s discovered that Uriel was behind all this, who are you going to summon to bring John back from the dead?”

“That’s totally unfair. He knew what he was doing, it was his choice.”

“His _choice,_ really? He was innocent!”

Michael raised an eyebrow slightly. “Oh, come on. I know about those papers in his safe, which you certainly have found by now and haven’t mentioned. That alone would have gotten him twenty years. So I’d tread very lightly if I were you.”

“Is that a threat?” Cas bristled.

“Not at all. It’s a reminder of who you worked for,” Michael answered calmly. “John was _far_ from innocent.”

“I disagree, but that’s irrelevant now, isn’t it? Nobody cares anyway. Tell me exactly why he gave up his kids to the state when he had the option to turn them over to me,” Castiel demanded.

Now it was Michael’s turn to dish out some bitter sarcasm. “Oh, I see. So this is personal. It isn’t about justice. You just got your feelings hurt.”

Castiel shook his head in frustration. “No. You’re hiding something, and I’m starting to think there’s a major conspiracy going on, to be honest. This is about vengeance, not justice.”

“Alright, that’s it. You’re done here.” Michael stood up abruptly. “I was hoping to help you understand, but it’s like talking to a brick wall. You need to go before I throw you out.”

Castiel stood, too. “The public is going to demand answers I can’t give them. I hope you’re ready to be held responsible for my party’s downfall.”

“Me, personally? No. This is not my fault. You know what John’s last words were to me?”

“What?”

“Stay true. You used to say that to him, he said.”

Castiel felt his eyes stinging. “Yes.”

Michael lowered his voice to an angry near-whisper. “I took his advice, and I trusted you. I could have been prosecuted myself for that little note I slipped you a few months ago. Never mind that - you know who I told about those papers in his safe? Nobody, because Lucifer would have flipped out and stopped negotiating. Yet you still dare to stand in my office and accuse me of leading some kind of sinister conspiracy plot?”

“I didn’t say you were _leading_ it. Maybe you’re just a pawn, too.”

Michael was red, but he kept his voice low. “Right. We’re definitely done here. Go back to Los Angeles, and don’t contact me again unless it’s an emergency.”

“You won’t be hearing from me again, don’t worry.”

“If you’re thinking of quitting, don’t. You want some more bad PR? Because I can easily get an injunction that legally prohibits you from leaving. Push me any further and I’ll do it right now.”

Castiel’s nostrils flared. “I don’t care. Do it, then.”

“Consider it done. It’ll be signed before you get on your plane. Any other insults or accusations you’d like to add before you go?”

_Trust him, Cas. He’s always been a friend to me._

Castiel heard John’s voice clearly in his head, as if they were standing in the same room. It startled him, and he jumped back a half-step in his dismay. The last thing he needed right now was hearing his dead friend give him unwanted advice.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked a few moments later in true concern as he watched the blood drain from Castiel’s face.

“What?”

“Sit down for a minute,” Michael said as he pulled Castiel’s chair back out, then went to his little refrigerator under his desk. “I want you to drink some water.”

Castiel remained standing by the door. “I’m fine.”

Michael walked over and handed Castiel the water after uncapping it. “Drink. You’re white as a sheet.”

“Please accept my apologies,” Castiel said abruptly. “I’m not being fair.”

Michael blinked in surprise. Once, then twice. “Okay. Well, that was the last thing I expected to hear. John told me this is how it would go and warned me to prepare for a huge fight. He definitely didn’t predict an apology, though.”

“I’m stressed. You don’t know what it’s been like for me, not knowing what happened to him.”

“Really? You think John’s only friends were you and Gabriel? Maybe I wasn’t as close, but I assure you this hasn’t been easy for me, either.”

Castiel nodded. “I need to know, if...on the last day, when he was…”

“We were told it was painless and peaceful. I didn’t witness it myself, thank god. But he was in good spirits that day, all things considered, if that helps you any.”

“It does,” Castiel confirmed after a minute. “I just want to ask one more thing. It’s genuine curiosity, nothing else. If you’re so convinced John had this coming, why are you-”

“I never said he had it coming,” Michael corrected firmly. “Look, I have to stop talking now. I’ve already said way too much. I trust you not to make me regret it.”

Castiel lifted the water bottle to his lips and drank half of it in one gulp. “You won’t. I’m sorry. I was being an unfair, colossal dick.”

“I’m glad to see we’re finally in agreement about something. But I forgive you, and I won’t get that injunction if you just promise to hang in there a little longer. And to help me when I ask you, which will be soon.”

“Agreed. May I let Gabriel read this letter?”

”Yes. Almost forgot to mention that you and I need to talk tomorrow morning about the press statement. I’ll call you at 8am your time.”

”I...my apologies in advance if I’m not exactly receptive to whatever you want to say. I’ll try my best not to be a dick about it, but...”

Michael nodded sympathetically, then pushed the door open. Castiel left without another word, feeling like he had just walked into someone else’s life all of a sudden instead of his own.

John’s life, actually. And it scared the hell out of him.

\-----------------------------

Castiel returned to the hotel immediately, but wished he had held off. Gabriel was waiting for him in the lobby, and he had no idea how he was going to break the news to him. Hadn’t even thought about it, but he couldn’t wait now. The sooner he got it over with, the better.

“Let’s go upstairs, your room,” he said darkly. Gabe nodded, but said nothing. The guards followed them, waiting a respectful distance down the hallway as the door to the room closed. Castiel inhaled deeply as he took a few steps in.

“You should sit down,” he said quietly, as he pulled out chairs for both of them from the dining area’s table.

“Oh god,” mumbled Gabriel as he complied, hesitating at first to comply, but then sitting so close to Castiel that their knees were touching slightly.

“I have terrible news,” Castiel began, his voice deeper and more enunciated that usual. “And I...honestly, I should have been spending all the time I had in the car thinking of how to break it to you, but I didn’t, and that was selfish. I’m sorry, this is probably going to be...there’s probably a better way I can say it...but...”

“Just tell me, Cas. It’s alright.”

Castiel didn’t look at Gabe. “John not only pled guilty, as we already know, he...he also chose execution instead of prison.”

“Uhhh…” was all Gabriel could manage for now.

“And even worse, it was carried out on March 31. He’s gone, Gabe.” Now Castiel lifted his eyes and locked gazes with his shocked friend. “He’s...it was actually his choice. I don’t know why, but it’s done.”

Gabriel swallowed a few times, but otherwise stayed calm. “Okay. Where’s the letter?”

Castiel wordlessly reached into his coat and handed it over, then got up to get Gabriel a drink from the minibar. He thought about reaching for one of the beers, but then selected two water bottles instead and went to sit back down. Gabriel took one but made no move to open it.

“They censored it,” he said needlessly, pointing to the paragraph in question. “Something about the boys has been completely removed.”

“Yes. I’ve been told I’ll get the uncensored version when…” He didn’t know when, so he let the sentence hang. Gabriel didn’t ask him to finish it.

“Right. Well, we aren’t due to fly home for another three hours. Can we leave now?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, if you’re feeling up for it.”

“I am. Let me get my stuff together. I’ll need about fifteen minutes.”

Gabriel didn’t bring anything that would take fifteen minutes to pack, but Castiel rose anyway and patted him on the shoulder, then slid quietly through the connecting door into his own suite and laid down.

His heart shattered a few minutes later when the sound of a loud sob broke into his thoughts, and he sat up and was puzzled to realize it was his own. He hadn’t shed real tears yet, not even about losing the boys. The only time he’d come close to breaking was when John’s office was unsealed a month ago and he made the mistake of going inside before it was cleared out.

But John’s downfall hadn’t been real, then. It was now.

The suite’s inner door slid open from the other side as Gabriel slipped in, sat down on the bed, and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Castiel turned around and embraced him, and they held onto each other and cried for a little while.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Castiel is more like John than he'd like to admit.
> 
> This chapter parallels all the events of chapters 1 and 7. You might want to re-read them if you have time :)

**Philadelphia** **  
** **June 15, 1995**

Gabriel was absolutely dreading the plane ride home. He figured Cas would be silent, brooding, angry. Possibly even hostile. Not that he didn’t have a right to be, but it was going to be a long six hours if he was any of the above.

Castiel was equally dreading the trip, for different reasons. His guards Devereaux and Toby were there, too, and the plane wasn’t big enough to have any private conversation with Gabriel. For two months - actually, almost three - Cas had remained completely silent in regards to John. Hadn’t said a word about him, hadn’t allowed anyone talk about the situation, and answered exactly zero questions publicly. Back in April the media had been in an uproar for weeks about the missing boys, but the FBI quashed that by explaining John had sent them to a boarding school before Castiel could seek custody of them. End of story, and it blew over fairly quickly, all things considered.

Had Castiel been any other man, he would have been embarrassed by that statement, possibly even self-conscious about what people would think of him. He didn’t care, though. He wasn’t John and never worried about being liked, and had no time or inclination to address it. So Gabriel and Charlie forged ahead, kept in line, kept their mouths shut, and watched Castiel out of the sides of their eyes while he waited impatiently for Michael’s next move.

Gabriel knew something was up, of course. He never asked, but his instinct told him Uriel was being investigated. The fact that Castiel couldn’t tell him didn’t bother him. That would have been too much of a distraction; it was better to move on, to focus on things that could be controlled, and work on getting the organization back together again.

The plane had barely levelled out at altitude before Cas turned his seat around and rested his eyes on his tired friend.

“What’s the latest tally?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“53, including two more who resigned this morning,” answered Gabriel. That was how many people had left the organization after April’s announcement that John wasn’t coming back, and that Castiel Novak was interim CEO for a period of six months. After that, the president could approve him as a permanent replacement. The only person who knew he probably wouldn’t was Castiel himself, but he had never mentioned the possibility yet.

“Over ten percent now,” Castiel replied. “Can we run that lean?”

“Of course. We were always overstaffed anyway, you know John. Always paranoid about people working themselves to death, ironically enough.”

Castiel looked out the window and took a deep breath. It was time to tell Gabriel his suspicions. “I doubt Henriksen will confirm me on November 1.”

“What? Why?”

“He hates me, for starters.”

Gabriel furrowed his eyebrows. “He does _not_ hate you. Don’t be overdramatic.”

“Michael said…” Castiel glanced aside at the guards, who were obviously listening carefully while pretending to be totally disinterested. “Never mind. Devereaux?”

The young man started, and turned with a slightly guilty expression.

“Yes, sir?”

“Have you heard from Benny? I was wondering what he’s been up to.”

“We went out the other night. He’s with the LAPD again, working for my dad.”

“Is he happy?” Castiel asked mildly, and Gabriel looked sideways at him in surprise. He had never heard Cas ask if _anyone_ was happy, ever.

Devereaux looked as if he was going to say yes just to avoid tension, but he didn’t. “No, sir. He misses John and the boys very much. He mentioned that....”

“What?”

“He said he wanted to come see you, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be welcome. He wanted to explain what happened in Philadelphia.”

“Did he tell you?”

“No, sir. I’m...he wouldn’t tell me a thing like that. He’s very private.”

Castiel fell silent for a minute, then cleared his throat. “I see. Thank you for telling me. He’s mistaken about not being welcome. I’ll call him up when we get home.”

Gabriel stood up and went to flip on the television. “Let’s all watch a movie. What do you feel up for, Cas?”

Castiel replied glumly, “I hear they’re making a film about the Titanic. It might be perfectly appropriate right now.”

“Maybe so, but a tragedy is the last thing we need to watch.” Gabe leaned over to examine the little cabinet full of VHS tapes and perused them carefully. “Maybe a comedy.”

He finally pulled one out decisively.

“ _Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo_?” Castiel scoffed.

Gabriel ignored him and handed the tape to the flight attendant, who cued it up for them on the player and doused the cabin lights. Castiel felt rather than saw the guards watching, too, and was annoyed that they seemed delighted by the selection.

“Anthropomorphisation of cars is a silly premise for anything other than a kid’s movie,” Cas grumbled.

He only got a glare in return.

“Fine,” Cas sighed. “Play it, then.”

“This was one of Sam’s favorites when he was really little. He always begged Amelia put it on when she was babysitting the boys.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling the eyes of the guards on him once again. He really didn’t like Gabe speaking of the Winchester sons in past tense, like they were dead, too, but there was nothing he could say about it.

“Oh. I didn’t realize, sorry. I’ll try to enjoy it, then.”

“Thank you.”

Castiel didn’t enjoy it, of course, and hardly paid any attention at all. He wanted so badly to take John’s letter out of his coat and read it again. And again. And again. But he refrained, and didn’t open until he got home. Then he put it in his safe and went to bed.

It would be weeks before he took it out again and noticed John’s hastily scribbled note deep inside of the envelope, far away from the prying eyes of Michael and Bela:

_804-253-7894_

It would be another two weeks before Castiel saw it and called, and months before Bobby would call back and agree to help him.

\-----------------------

**JUNE 30 - early morning**

“Hello,” said the voice on the other line. A few moments passed, then, “Hello?”

Castiel cleared his throat and pitched it up a bit. “Who is this, please? Just want to make sure I have the right number.”

“Nice try. Who are you?” the man demanded.

Another long pause. “I see we are at an impasse. Very well. I received your number from John Winchester some time ago, but I was not in a position to call until now. Can you talk? It’s important.”

“I’m in a meeting. Let me take your number and call you back.”

“Not possible. When is a good time to call you back?” he asked tersely.

There was a long pause.

“Okay, let me read that back to you,” the man said, a note of amusement in his voice. “310-758-5100. Is that right?”

Castiel’s heart jolted painfully. His cell number. How the hell..? “No. I’m not sure who’s number that is. When would be a good time to call you back?” he said again, trying to keep his voice steady and unconcerned.

“Actually, I’m not interested. Please remove my number from your database. Have a good day.”

The angry man hung up. Castiel called Charlie and Gabe to his office, brutishly admitted where he got the man’s number from, and asked them to drop everything and find out who it belonged to. He dismissed Gabriel’s protests and sent them on their way.

Charlie came back less than an hour later, and Castiel fully expected to hear it was untraceable. She dropped a sheet of paper triumphantly on his desk and crossed her arms, smiling from ear to ear.

“A certain Robert Singer, boss. Chief Administrator of the Indentured Servants Training School for Minors. Do you know him?”

Castiel snatched the paper off the desk. John’s old roommate and best friend. No wonder he had Castiel’s number. But the man was a fierce Opportunist….what the hell was John up to now?

“Excellent work, Charlie. Where’s Gabriel?”

“In a PR meeting until 3pm. Do you want me to get him out?”

“No, thanks. I’ll wait. Thanks. Lunch is on me today, whatever you want.”

\-------------------------

**Same day - afternoon**

It was the fourth time Castiel had called, but the last two times he had said nothing.

“Jesus H Christ on a pogo stick. You again?” Bobby scoffed. “Why don’t you just talk to me? I don’t bite. Not today, anyway.”

Brief pause, then Castiel finally spoke. “Are you the same Bobby Singer who was friends with John Winchester for so long?”

“I’m going to hang up now. Goodbye.”

“Just a moment, Mr. Singer. I’m a friend of John’s. I want the deeds to the Winchester boys transferred to me, and I need your help to do it.”

 _Holy shit,_ thought Bobby, every drop of blood in his body turning to ice. He knew that voice.

“Absolutely not,” he blurted harshly. “You really think I’m gonna give them over to you assholes to brainwash for the next twenty years?”

“So they _are_ there, then. Excellent.”

 _Fuck_! Bobby breathed under his breath, furious at himself for falling into such a simple trap. It took him a minute to collect himself; visions of losing his job and being blackmailed by the Insurrectionists were already filling up his darkest thoughts.

“Screw you, you stupid son of a bitch,” Bobby muttered angrily.

Castiel was clearly unmoved by the insult. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you fell for that.”

Bobby slammed down the phone, which rang again less than a minute later. He picked up with shaking hands.

“You should seriously consider cooperating with me,” Castiel said politely. “John Winchester was framed. We have proof now, and I’m going to submit it to the FBI soon. It’s too late to save Lucifer and Uriel, but not the boys.”

“You’ve picked the wrong man to bully, idjit,” Bobby interrupted hotly, hating that he was so rattled he couldn’t think of anything better to say. _Framed_? Not possible; the Insurrectionists were just getting desperate now and trying to mess with his head.

Castiel retorted with a hint of regret in his tone, “As I said, I’m a friend in this particular discussion. To both you _and_ the Winchesters. John made it clear that you were a man who cares deeply about their welfare, if nothing else.”

“What discussion? You can’t have them, and you’re nuts if you think I’m going to waste one more second on you. Lose my number, pal.”

Castiel replied casually, “No. I’m not giving up until they’re safe with me, no matter what it takes.”

“Don’t you fucking threaten me,” Bobby warned. “I had nothing to do with any of this.”

“I understand that. But I need your help. Please.”

Complete silence from Bobby’s side invaded the line for at least a minute, then he finally said, “No. John was guilty as hell, and you know it. You’re the one who turned him in!”

“ _What_?” Castiel was astonished. “I absolutely did not. Who told you that? Lucifer? Uriel?”

“Oh come on, Novak. Stop the bullshit. Don’t ever call me again. Especially don’t ever threaten me again.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and then a slight huff. “You’ve completely misunderstood my intentions. I’m not threatening you."

“Could've fooled me!” Bobby practically yelled.

“Mr. Singer...I did not turn John in. He was framed. I don’t know how much clearer I can be.”

“Look, Novak, you’re in deep shit. I know you are breaching the plea bargain just by calling me, so you’re headed for jail time, my man, as soon as I let Lucifer know. Start packing.”

“I’m perfectly aware of what they could do to me, and I’m willing to risk it because John said you could be trusted. If you tell Lucifer, I won’t deny anything. I’ll go to jail for this. John gave me your number in his very last communication with me, and he _never_ would have put either of us in danger for no reason. I don’t know why. You do. Call me back when you’re willing to talk about the future of Sam and Dean.”

The call terminated before Bobby could get another word in.

Castiel sucked in his breath and held it for a long time, toying with the notion that he'd just made a huge, life-changing mistake. Bobby knew there was a plea bargain, and he apparently knew what the terms were. He _knew_ , while he claimed to have nothing to do with it. John had either dug Castiel's grave or Bobby's with his little note. And Castiel realized it was probably going to be his, if he couldn't get Bobby to work with him, and fast.

_Fuck..._

\-----------------------------

CHAPTER 1 IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWS THIS CONVERSATION :) perhaps you’d like to read it as a refresher. Here’s the link:

[ https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818317/chapters/34289703 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818317/chapters/34289703)


	71. Squall

**Richmond, Virginia**

**ISTSM**

Bobby Singer had, of course, fallen in love with the boys again as soon as they’d arrived back in April. He was relieved neither one of them seemed to have inherited the worst of their father’s characteristics. They hadn’t exactly inherited the best ones, either. Sam was lazy, Dean was meek, and both the boys together were not much of a force to be reckoned with at first.

_At first._

Something had changed in Dean a while back, almost immediately after Bobby had first heard from the mysterious caller who later turned out to be Castiel. Dean had been standing in Bobby’s office when that call came through, so at first Bobby thought maybe he had heard the voice through the phone and figured out who was calling. It quickly dawned on him that of course Dean would have recognized the phone number that Bobby was stupid enough to blurt out loud for all to hear.

If that was the case, though...why didn’t the boy saying anything, and why did he lose his openness and sweetness so quickly? Bobby had seen the change the very next day, and it was bothering him so much that he had to nearly physically hold himself back from asking what the hell was up. The way Dean held himself straight as a ramrod, the way he physically but subtly blocked Sam protectively...even the new tension in response to all but the mildest questions. It was almost as if he was scared to death that Castiel had called. No, not scared. Angry. It made no sense whatsoever; John had mentioned time and again how close the boys were to Novak and how much being separated for a year would hurt them.

Bobby had wanted to tell the boys, of course, that Castiel would take them out if this awful situation in a year. But he couldn’t, and he certainly wouldn’t anyway now that he suspected Dean hated the man.

So Bobby was distracted. It had been five weeks since Castiel called to tell him John was allegedly framed. Thirty-five long, stressful days since Bobby learned exactly why the new leader of the Insurrectionists was infamous for being approximately as subtle as a machine gun. In that time, Bobby had quietly read up about him and pored over dozens of videos and news clips. The amount of material on him was limited, but it was enough that he felt almost knew Novak personally now, and it disturbed him that something wasn’t adding up.

Novak definitely didn’t seem to have the imagination or balls required to make up wild, unprovable theories out of the blue for no reason. He was also strictly forbidden from trying to find out where the boys were. And yet, he had done just that, at the risk of certain jail time and public shame and infamy. Nobody would do that unless they were one hundred percent convinced they were absolutely right. Not to mention it was extremely odd that he apparently didn’t know the boys were going to be his in one year.

But then again, John possessed a masterful ability to manipulate anyone into believing anything; it was part of the reason he was so successful in politics even when he was pushing back against popular opinion. This could all be a trick. Perhaps he’d even brainwashed Castiel into believing there was some kind of conspiracy. But why? He was guilty, after all. He’d never said he wasn’t...

The only thing holding back Bobby from telling Uriel that Castiel had called was the fact that he’d inadvertently given up the boys’ location to him. That alone would cost him his job. Every day since then, Bobby had discreetly kept a set of boxes nearby to be ready for filling when the time came that he was inevitably asked to leave.

Nothing had come of it, though. Strangely, there was no further contact from Castiel, which only strengthened Bobby’s curiosity and doubts rather than quashing them.

But he did nothing about it. Yet.

\-----------------------------

“Sam.”

“Mmmmummph.”

“ _Sam._ Move over.”

Sam opened one eye and peered at his brother, barely visible in the gloom. “Nightmares again?” he asked sleepily as he backed up against the wall to make room.

“Not a nightmare,” Dean clarified as he slid in bed next to his brother and held on tightly to him to keep from falling out. “An idea.”

“Shhhhh. Oh god. What? Your last idea got both of our butts blistered.”

Dean sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ve said it like a million times. Can you stop bringing that up?” 

“No.”

”I’m going to tell Mr. Singer we know who he is.”

“What? Why?”

“Because maybe he’ll give us some news on dad. If we befriend him, start reminiscing, you know...maybe we can win his confidence eventually. Or he’ll feel sorry for us, or something. And help us.”

“Help us _what_? Dean, it’s 3am. And you always told me he hated dad.”

Just as he said that, the overhead light came on and blinded them both painfully.

“Owwwww,” Dean moaned as he hurriedly got on his feet and shaded his eyes to look at the culprit.

“Mr. Winchester,” said the night manager of the dorm, quietly. “Back to bed.”

“Mr. Donatello-”

“Nope. Out you go.”

Dean’s sighed and looked around the room as Sam’s three roommates woke and grumbled at him, rubbing their eyes painfully. He patted Sam on the head and walked back to his room, which he shared with no one at the moment, and flopped onto his back in the creaky bed.

“Sir, can’t I just...there are two empty beds in here. Why can’t I share with Sam? He’s my brother.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Mr. Singer.” The man paused, then seemed to have a sudden deep thought and walked in the room to sit down on the bed opposite Dean. “I haven’t heard anything about your father yet.”

Dean stared at the ceiling. “I know. I...I really appreciate you trying to find out for me. I know I say that all the time, but it really means a lot. Thank you.”

“Happy to help, but you know what I would appreciate in return? For you to stop fucking around and putting you and your brother in danger. Next time this happens, I have report you. No choice. Understood?”

Dean turned on his side to study the older man he had become so friendly with over the past few weeks. “Deal. I’m sorry. But he’s my brother-”

“Yes, I know, but it’s not fair to the other boys to keep giving you special treatment. I’ve said it before, and I really mean it this time.”

“Do you know Castiel Novak?” Dean blurted suddenly, without thinking.

“Not personally, of course. What’s he like?”

“He’s a dick,” Dean replied blandly. “And he’s the reason me and Sammy are here in the first place. Mr. Singer said I could write a letter to him so I did, but I haven’t asked him to send it yet.”

Donatello crossed his arms. “Are you upset with him for not seeking custody of you and Sam?”

“No! I’m glad he didn’t, oh my god. That would be horrible.”

“So what did you put in the letter, then?”

Dean sat up again and pulled the sheaf of paper out from between his mattresses. “I asked him why he...why he turned dad in. They were best friends. He was my uncle. In name, I mean, not blood. Then he called here to talk to Mr. Singer, and-”

“He called _here_?” interrupted Donatello, shocked. “He knows you’re here? Dean, who else have you told about this?”

“Nobody,” answered Dean quickly, a little hurt at his new friend’s harsh tone. “I mean, Sam knows, but-”

Donatello stood up abruptly. “Okay, Dean. Keep it to yourself from now on. I’m sorry, but I can’t continue this conversation, ever. Don’t bring him up again, and don’t tell anyone else he called. Goodnight.”

“Sir, wait…” Dean called as the man started to leave. Then he swallowed hard as the light was shut off and the door closed abruptly, leaving him alone once again. He laid back on the bed, his eyes stinging with tears, and lay awake until dawn, staring at the ceiling and feeling his heart harden just a little more towards the man he had once called Uncle Cas.

——————

Of all the conversations Bobby Singer had dreaded in all his life, this one had to rank at the top of the list. He tensed as Dean - who was in trouble yet _again_ for mouthing off to his teachers - trudged in sleepily and flopped into a chair before being given permission.

“What’s this all about?” Dean blurted moodily. “It’s fucking 7 o’clock in the morning.”

Bobby gulped and leaned over to pick up his short cane. “Stand up,” he ordered briskly.

“No.”

“I would comply if I were you, kiddo.”

Dean eyed him dangerously. “I’m not afraid of you anymore, _Uncle Bobby._ ”

Bobby paused, set the cane down and crossed in front of the desk, then leaned back against it. His heart was beating so hard that it was making him dizzy, and Dean’s ferocious glare wasn’t helping matters.

“How long have you known?” Bobby asked quietly, after taking a few moments to gather his wits.

Dean said nothing. He just stared.

“I gather Sam doesn’t remember.”

Again, dead silence from the elder Winchester boy.

Bobby threw up his hands. “Alright. So you know. What now, you’re going to be a little shit from now on just to get back at me for-”

“Why did Castiel turn in my dad and send us here? Did he have some kind of agreement with you? Were you two secretly conspiring against him this entire time?”

“Lower your voice. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean laughed humorlessly. “I knew it. There’s no other reason he would have called here, but you’re not allowed to talk to him, are you? That’s why Mr. Donatello freaked out when I mentioned it to him.”

“You did  _what?_ Dean, what the holy hell has gotten into you?” Bobby blurted, his hands raised up in the pre-surrender stage. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you since the day you-”

“I want Sam assigned to my room. Just the two of us, for the rest of our time here. That’s the price for my silence. Take it or leave it.”

Bobby stared at him for several long, tense moments. “You’ve got me wrong, kiddo. I don’t know what you think is going on, but-”

“Don’t lie! And don’t call me that. My name is Dean.” Dean started to choke up a little, and Bobby subconsciously wrung his hands together in his anxiety.

“Okay,” Bobby said patiently, “you can room with Sam, but we’re going to have a long talk first.”

Dean stood up quickly, his expression still dark and dangerous. “No. We’re done here. Have a nice day.”

Bobby stared in amazement as Dean confidently strode out and disappeared. That was the exact moment Bobby realized he was wrong about Dean not having inherited John’s temperament and worst traits. Wrong about being grateful the kid had gone a different direction. 

Well. Turned out Dean was going to be  _just_ like John, if this was any indication. _Shit_...

——

Dean never spoke to Bobby again on his own accord. He politely answered yes or no questions, left it at that, and broke no more rules. He was polite and obedient to the point of near absurdity, although the deepset restlessness in his manner never wavered.

There was only one time Bobby started to go after him; Dean was being uncommonly hard on Sam for the tenth time in a week it seemed, but the teenager was clearly in “big brother protective mode.” It was working since Sam had started to finally fall in line, too, so Bobby let it go with a few mild words of warning which Dean clearly intended to ignore.

Then Castiel called back, unexpectedly, on an otherwise sunny day when Bobby was finally feeling at peace with himself and his role in John’s death.

“Mr. Singer.”

“Yes?” Bobby replied patiently, although his heart began galloping like a racehorse going downhill.

“The FBI has prematurely ended their involvement in the investigation of Uriel.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bobby lied. “Stop calling me-“

“The agent responsible for the work has been fired,” Novak replied flatly.

“How is that any of my business?”

“Because I learned something very interesting last week. You were Lucifer’s negotiator for the plea bargain. Yet, last time we talked, you claimed to know nothing and that you had nothing to do with any of this.”

_Oh, fuck._

“So,” continued Castiel, “the fact that you lied tells me my initial instincts were correct. You were conspiring with Uriel and Lucifer to frame John. Perhaps to get back at him for the way your friendship ended eleven years ago. Or because Uriel tricked you into his scheme, which I find far more likely.”

Bobby quickly hung up the phone and unplugged it for safe measure. Then he went to the empty office next door and shakily dialed Uriel.


	72. Plug In, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I won't give away any spoilers in the summary. Just read it :)

**Los Angeles, California**

**Insurrectionists HQ**

**September 1, 1995**

On a normal day, it took quite a lot to get Castiel irritated. On a stressful day, it took very little. But he had never before yelled at any employee, no matter what the impetus. In fact, sometimes he would get calmer and quieter in inverse proportion to how much a situation was blowing up out of control. Disarming people with his refusal to fight was one of his greatest talents.

Today was a new day. He had started off the morning with a full-fledged shouting match with Gabriel, followed by a phone-shouting match with Bela Talbot, followed by the reprise of another shouting match with Gabriel just before 5pm. Half the office had heard them all and most of them looked about ready to vacate the premises, as if a bomb threat had been called in.

“Cas, for the last time, you _cannot_ make that call,” Gabriel fumed as he slammed his hand down on the desk for the second time today. “Are you out of your fu...out of your mind?”

Castiel set his pen down and glared across the table. “You were warned, Gabe. I told you that you wouldn’t like what was going on, and you agreed to stay out of it as long as I kept you informed. I’ve kept you informed, so keep your end of the bargain and _stay out of it_!”

“Absolutely not. Fuck it all, Cas, you’re just asking to get yourself thrown in jail. I can’t run this goddamned loony bin by myself, so-”

“That’s enough.”

Gabriel didn’t relent. “So you just...you’re just going to tell Bela you’ve been in contact with Bobby Singer. For months.”

“Not months. Three calls, over three months.”

“Same thing. Jesus Christ, you’re just like John. You know that? Not a shred of common sense, and everything done out of some horribly skewed sense of duty and honor.” Gabriel had broken into a sweat, and he was angrier than Castiel had ever seen him. “You always said Henriksen wouldn’t confirm you in November anyway. So I suppose you think you have nothing to lose now, is that it? Fuck it all?”

“Pretty much, yes,” Castiel admitted, which completely threw Gabriel off guard.

“What...wait, no,” he stuttered. “You’re trying to confuse me.”

“No, I’m trying to shut you up so I can make this call before Bela leaves the office.”

Gabriel reached out and snatched up Castiel’s cell phone. “I’m not giving this back to you until you agree to think about it over the weekend. If you’re still intent on committing harakiri, at least do it Monday morning so you don’t ruin her weekend. Or mine.”

Castiel bristled. “I am _not_ like John, by the way. If you ever say that again, our friendship is over. I would have _never_ given up my kids the way he did. Nor treated them the way he did. _Never_. He chose to give them to Lucifer over me, and you dare to say I’m just like him?”

Gabriel crossed his arms and took a step back. “I get it now. This is personal. You don’t give a shit about our party anymore, do you? You’re just pissed at John because you got your feelings hurt, and-”

“I have to do what’s right, Gabriel, and to be bluntly honest, your opinion of _why_ I’m doing it doesn’t matter. Especially when you don’t know all the facts.”

Gabe nodded, his anger leveling out somewhat. “Fair enough. So you’re going to tell Bela how you’ve been investigating on your own against FBI mandates, and let her know that you’ve been interfering and working secretly with Michael on the side. Is that all, or is there more? Oh, by the way...if you do that, I will quit on the spot.”

Castiel slowly walked over to Gabriel and lowered his voice to a near-whisper.

“Fine, I’ll tell you what’s upsetting me. Michael was fired this morning because he accidentally let it slip to me that Bobby Singer was Lucifer’s negotiator. The investigation is now over.”

Gabriel’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit. Cas...I...”

Castiel continued, “Obviously, that opens up an entirely new set of questions that will have to be answered. The reason I’m calling Bela now is take all the blame and offer to resign if she re-hires Michael to continue the investigation, and start a new one on Bobby Singer. So, if you quit...”

Gabriel nodded, then took a few minutes to stare out the window and gather his thoughts. He didn’t move a muscle, and neither did Castiel as he sat behind his desk, watching thoughtfully and feeling like he had just swallowed an anvil.

Gabriel said eventually, very quietly, “I’m sorry, Cas. You have to do what you can live with. I won’t quit.”

“Thank you. If it’s any consolation, she’s not going to take the offer. But I have to ask.”

“Hmmm. Wait...three calls to Bobby Singer now? Did you call him again, even though you swore to me you wouldn’t?”

“Yesterday. It didn’t go well. He hung up on me.”

"You...you lied to me.“

"I broke a promise, actually. Not the same thing, but you have a right to be angry about it if you need to."

Gabriel turned around, walked slowly up to the desk, and didn’t take his eyes off his friend. “I see. When you explain this to Bela, kindly confirm to her that I had nothing to do with any of this whatsoever, and that you’re acting against my express wishes and advice.”

“I will, of course. I may be a lost cause, but your standing in this organization is intact, and I intend to keep it that way.”

Gabriel was stone-faced. “Well, you’re right about one thing. My standing is all we’ve got left now.”

Castiel eyed him worriedly, and started to reply, but he could thinking of nothing. Gabriel turned and left the office, shutting the door quietly behind him.

\-------------------------------------

Castiel didn’t call Bela. He snuck out after the conversation with Gabriel and went home to think about it.

John’s home, rather. He had sold his own in August, and John’s old house was on the market now with several offers. The boat was gone, too, and all the cars except for the Impala. Every dollar had gone towards the staggering bills he and Gabriel had received from canceling the deeds to their household servants. The money for the second house would go straight into a irrevocable trust for the boys, Castiel had already decided, so that their owner would have the money to cancel their deeds when they reached the halfway point. Dean would be 26, and Sam would be 22.

For the hundredth time as he greeted his dog and his two fosters (it didn’t feel right saying Starsky and Hutch were actually _his_ now), he wondered how the boys were doing now, and what their future could possibly be like. They’d never see their dogs again if he didn’t succeed in his mission to vindicate John. It almost didn’t bear thinking about.

Chuck met him in the living room and took his coat and briefcase away.

“Thanks, Chuck. Sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming home early. Any news on the real estate front?”

“No sale yet. The offers keep piling up, it’s quite amazing. Everyone wants a piece of John’s history, apparently.”

“Well, he did live there for ten years. That’s understandable.”

Chuck was no longer servant and was a well-paid employee who considered Castiel a friend, but old habits never died hard. He started to ask a question, gulped a little, then ignored his pounding heart as he forged on.

“Any news of John and the boys?” he asked, just the same way he did every single day, and had done so for months.

“I’m afraid not,” Castiel replied automatically as he sat down to untie his shoes. “If the bills are ready to sign, go ahead and head home early. I’ll take care of the dogs.”

Chuck hesitated. “I’m sorry to keep asking. Are we ever going to know what happened to him?”

Castiel stopped what he was doing, and considered the guarded question. Chuck had loved John and the boys, and it was increasingly unfair to keep the poor man in the dark.

“I know that you’re really asking me _when_ I’m going to tell you what happened to him.”

Chuck nodded slightly, his expression worried.

“I can’t, by law,” Castiel admitted shortly. “Sorry for not saying it plainly before. When I can, you will be among the first to know.”

“I understand, sir. Are the boys ever coming back?”

“Don’t call me sir. No, they’re not. I’ve explained this to you already. I didn’t seek custody of them.”

Chuck flushed. “Right, sorry. On another subject, I’m sure you already know but I just wanted to remind you that Benny is coming over for lunch tomorrow.”

Castiel had actually forgotten completely, and again he was reminded of the many times he’d scoffed when John had insisted he’d need to keep a secretary at home once he was leading the party. Of course, the man had been absolutely right, Castiel conceded begrudgingly. His life would have fallen to pieces a dozen times over already without Chuck to manage his schedule.

“Thank you, I’d forgotten. What time?”

“12:30. Chef said he sent you an email asking about the menu but you never replied, so I told him to make chicken piccata.”

Castiel swallowed hard as he set his keys into the drawer of the side table. That had been Dean’s favorite meal.

“I’m sorry, he’ll have to make something else. I’ll go talk to him. See you tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry. I thought that was one of your favorites. My apologies if-”

“No, no,” Castiel interrupted politely. “It is. But I’ve had it for lunch two days in a row.”

Chuck smiled, relieved that he hadn’t made another mistake. Castiel could be impossible to read sometimes. “Oh, I understand. Tomorrow’s Saturday, by the way. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Right, thanks. Goodnight.”

Castiel found Chef and requested he go out to buy a few nice steaks, then went into the guest bedroom (he couldn’t bear to move to the master suite yet) and fell sound asleep for almost two hours. He dreamed about John and the boys, as usual.

\-------

**Richmond, Virginia**

Uriel hadn’t picked up the phone. Bobby wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or upset; he wasn’t sure he’d find the courage to dial those numbers again. He certainly knew he wouldn’t have the courage (or stupidity) to ever dial Castiel back. Besides, what on earth would he tell him?

Friday nights at ISTSM were no fun for the school’s 200 boys. It was always the most rigid formal dinner training, when they practiced serving and waiting. Like stuffy British footmen of old, outdated and relics, Bobby always said to himself. But that was what the clients demanded, and so the school provided. The food was too rich, the service too formal, the conversation too stifled. He much preferred the staff dining room.

He dressed up every week, however, and put his best face forward as he walked into one of the fake-gilded dining rooms that served well for training. He had a one-in-five chance of being seated at the table where the Winchesters were assigned, and to his dismay, found that he’d indeed beaten the odds. Dean was stationed directly behind his chair, looking sharp but remarkably sullen in his dress uniform. Bobby half expected to be garroted before dessert, he realized wryly. Sam was across the table, but he had a different expression altogether; it was more of a sad resignation and acceptance.

Bobby looked up and down the table of 20, ten people to each side. All of them except himself were teachers eager to show off their new charges to the assistant dean; the same one who wanted to be anywhere else but here. He sat back as Dean unfolded the napkin and laid it deftly over his lap.

“Thank you,” he said automatically as he reached for his water. This was the second-most advanced table for training, the boys having already graduated from serving 7-course meals and were now trying out a 9-course meal for the first time. Their next move would be to the 12-course meal table, but that wouldn’t be for at least four or five weeks. They had to master this first.

Bobby didn’t taste the first five courses. He was hyper-aware of Dean’s presence, made worse by the fact that he couldn’t see his face 99% of the time. The elder Winchester was perfection, however, and spilled nothing and made no mistakes. Sam, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck and couldn’t seem to get anything right. He was soon removed from the table by the butler, and was seen no more. Bobby wasn’t worried; the boy would get some refresher lessons to give him a boost of confidence and be back next week.

Bobby finally caught Dean’s eye as he set down the main course.

“You’re doing well, son,” he murmured quietly, approvingly.

Dean froze. “I’m not your son,” he replied sharply, a little too loudly. Bobby’s dining table neighbors looked up in horror as Dean stepped back and reached for the next plate.

“I haven’t had lamb in ages,” Bobby announced with a fake-plastered grin to those who were watching him. “Looking forward to this one.”

He didn’t taste the lamb, either. When the next course was placed in front of him, he carefully avoided making eye contact with his angry server. It took him a few seconds to realize it wasn’t Dean at all, and he looked up in surprise at the Butler, who saw his confusion and rushed over to his side.

“Something wrong, sir?” the coat-tailed man asked very discreetly as he bent over to speak directly into Bobby’s ear.

“Where did Dean go?” Bobby whispered neutrally. “He was doing a really good job.”

The butler looked amazed. “Sir? I...he was taken away for discipline, of course.”

“That’s not necessary, Paul. Bring him back, please.”

“But, I...it’s already...we’ve already sent him off, sir. My apologies.”

Bobby nodded and let it go. He had never known a dessert and mignardise to last so long in his life. It felt as though three hours had passed before the interminable meal ended and he could get back to his office. Dean was outside the door, of course, waiting obediently in the “chair of doom” that he had been getting to know all too well lately.

Bobby walked up carefully and then sat down on the bench next to him, not even remotely upset that the teenager wouldn’t meet his eye. It was understandable.

“I shouldn’t have called you son. Next time I’ll be more careful.”

Dean looked aside at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You could have told the head butler that before he...before he..”

Bobby glanced down at Dean’s welted palms and felt a surge of anger, but it would be inappropriate to sympathize right now. He hardened his voice instead. “He did his job when you messed up yours. You knew better. Gotta control those impulses. Alright, you’re forgiven. Just so you know, Sam isn’t in trouble. Just had a bit of a bad night, it happens.”

“Oh, right. So he can have one, but I can't?"

“You know it's not the same thing. I have some Advil in my office, if you want it. Will take the edge off the sting.”

“No.”

Bobby shrugged. “Alright, well...you did a really good job tonight, otherwise. I was impressed.”

Dean said nothing; he was thinking about the servants who used to serve him and Sam.

Bobby decided to take the plunge while Dean was here and pretty much his captive audience. He might not have a chance otherwise.

“Dean,” he said quietly. Gently. “Your dad sent you here because he knew I’d look after you and take good care of you. I’m really trying my best, kiddo. I had nothing to do with the crimes he was charged with. None whatsoever. I need you to hang in there and get past this.”

“Then why was Castiel calling you and why is it all a secret,” Dean asked flatly, not even phrasing it as a question. He was already convinced of his conspiracy theory and didn’t need an explanation.

“Your dad left him my number so he could call and check up on you guys. I didn’t know that when he first called, I mean...when you boys were standing in my office. He and I were never friends, let’s just put it that way. He’s the last person I wanted to talk to at the time.”

Dean turned to look at Bobby now. “To check up on us? Why? He doesn’t give a shit about us. I hate him. Tell him we’re dead.”

Bobby shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know why you would say that. Your dad told me you treated Castiel like an uncle, and vice versa. What on earth happened to make you hate him?”

“He turned dad in and made us slaves, maybe? No big deal,” Dean jeered, and Bobby sat up a little bit taller.

“Dean...who told you that?”

“Meg Masters.”

“The shit reporter? _Meg_ ? You listened to _her_?” Bobby was shocked. He didn’t follow politics anymore, but even he knew Meg was trash.

“It was...it was on the news,” Dean said, faltering a little.

“Look,” Bobby said with a sigh, “you’re sixteen years old. Almost seventeen. I’m not going to talk to you like you’re a child anymore, okay? Do you want to speak as adults?”

“Yes,” Dean replied after a moment, looking as scared as a toddler all of a sudden.

“Reporters lie sometimes. They work for network brass who get paid to pay other people to say what they think people want to hear. Meg is the worst of the worst, downright corrupt, and she was lying. I can tell you that with a hundred percent certainty.”

Dean seemed amazed and confused. “What?”

“I’m also going to tell you - adult to adult - that I’m putting my job on the line by telling you all this. I work for the Opportunists. Do you think they’d want me telling you their reporters are liars?”

“No. I mean, I knew anyway, kind of. That’s why my dad would never let me watch the news.”

“Smart man.”

Dean sat up straight. “Alright, then I just have one more question.”

“Sure.”

“Castiel was me and Sam’s guardian. So why did our dad choose to have us enslaved rather than sent to his house to live, if he was such a good guy?”

The hair on Bobby’s neck raised up a little at that question, and his stomach churned uncomfortably. He was suddenly ill-at-ease again over his part in the negotiation.

“I don’t know, Dean. I really don’t. If I had been a fly on the wall at the FBI, I could tell you.”

"Well, I don't believe you. If you'd seen how he was acting, and the way he refused to defend dad...."

Bobby shrugged again, but his throat was tight. "Well, I'm telling the truth. Not much else I can say about it."

“I eavesdropped on one of his calls with Castiel once, just before he left,” Dean said quietly. “It was an accident. He didn’t know I was under his desk. I’d been playing hide and seek with Sam and dad came in talking on his cell phone. We weren’t allowed in his study.”

“Did he find you?”

“No. He was really angry already, and I didn’t want to make him madder, so I just stayed there. He told Uncle Cas that Uriel was going to keep his promise to him, as he always knew he would even after ten years.”

“Promise to what?”

“To visit him in jail. I never knew they were friends after everything that happened during the Revolution. Thought they were enemies, but Dad never really told me anything about work. I just...sometimes I feel like I don’t know him at all.”

The hair on Bobby’s neck raised even higher. “Wait. He said that ten years ago Uriel made a promise to visit your dad in jail?”

“Yes.”

“That’s...are you sure that’s what he said?”

Dean nodded, then wiped his nose with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry, I really miss…I just...I want to go home.”

Now Bobby's eyes were moist, too. “I know. I'm sorry.”

"I never thought I would miss him this much. He can be so mean to me and Sam sometimes." He looked down at his welted hands in disgust. “But at least he never does  _this.”_

 _“_ Yeah...that’s something, at least,” Bobby agreed helplessly. “You can go back to your room now.” 

After Dean left, Bobby went into his office and sat down hard, trying not to think of the poor kid bursting into tears. He was already distracted anyway by something Uriel had said long ago - during their first meeting about the trial - suddenly tugged at the edges of his consciousness, but never quite fully formed itself. Like trying to remember the voice of someone long dead, he mused grimly. He tried hard to remember, then gave up, laid his head on his arms, and began dozing on the edges of a dream.

A few minutes later he awakened abruptly, the stark memory of the only words Uriel had ever said about his Insurrectionists informant suddenly ringing clear in his head like a church bell:

 _The man talks like a goat with a banana stuck in his throat, but he has all the right_ _access to get shit done._

The right access to get shit done. That didn’t mean what he thought it meant...did it?

If there was even a possibility it did, though...

It was a few minutes before midnight when Bobby drove into town with a long coat over his suit, praying the entire time that he wasn’t losing his fucking mind by jumping to the crazy conclusions he was currently coming to. He spotted a gas station far from his usual haunts and pulled over. Nobody would recognize him here, and there were no cameras.

It was 12:35am. He took a deep breath, cursed under his breath for a little while, then picked up the pay phone and dialed Castiel. He was so nervous it took him three tries to get the number in correctly.

\---------------

**Los Angeles**

**Gabriel Angel house, 9:50pm**

****Castiel strode up the front stairs two by two just as the front door opened. As usual, he didn’t think to call first, but the Novak guards had given the Angel guards a heads-up that the boss was on the way over, and Gabriel had hastily gotten dressed and ran down to intercept him just in time.

“Everything okay, Cas?” Gabe asked fearfully as his friend reached him and grabbed his arm in a tight grip. He noticed his guards jump and move slightly towards him, but he quickly warned them off with a slight shake of his head.

Castiel was almost breathless. “Who do we know that talks like _a goat with a banana stuck in his throat_?”

Gabriel stared at him in shock. “What the....?”

“It’s a serious question, Gabe. Think on it,” Castiel urged. “Quickly.”

Gabe shook his head like a dog. “Alright. Uh. There’s...that strange fellow in accounting, you mean?”

“Exactly. Gadreel. He’s been working with Lucifer and Uriel this whole time. Probably still is.”

“Holy shit,” Gabe whispered back fiercely. “That fucker!”

“Come with me to the office. I’ll have Charlie and Kevin meet us there.”

“Yeah, of course. Give me a couple minutes, gotta finish dressing and tell Amelia.”

“I’ll tell her. Where is she?”

“Uh, in the tub.”

Castiel blushed instantly. “Never mind, I’ll wait in the car. Hurry.”

———————-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Who knew the breakthrough would be triggered by Dean himself? Our hero! *fans self*


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This immediately follows the previous chapter in which Castiel went to Gabe’s house to tell him who the informant is...now they’re on the way to the office.

**Los Angeles**

“I think I scared your guards,” Castiel observed nonchalantly on the way to the office.

“You did. They’ll get over it.” Gabe was a nervous wreck. Garth was driving them in the truck, which didn’t have privacy glass, so Castiel hadn’t explained anything yet.

“This traffic,” Gabriel complained a few minutes later - again - unable to keep his silence for more than a minute at a time. He knew he was getting on Castiel’s nerves, but he couldn’t help it. “10 o’clock at night. Don’t these people have to work tomorrow? We’ve gone less than a mile.”

Garth replied quickly, “Going as fast as I can, sir. Santa Monica Boulevard down to 10th Street is closed for a film shoot.”

“Oh. Thanks. That wasn’t a criticism, by the way,” he added belatedly. Garth said nothing.

Castiel glanced meaningfully at Gabe; it was one of his many trademark looks that needed no words. This one in particular was the ‘ _calm down before you give yourself a stroke’_ version.

“It’s Friday night, in Los Angeles. Of course there’s traffic.”

“Why didn’t we take the Escalade?” Gabriel complained. “You’re killing me here.”

 _“Gabriel,”_ Cas mumbled warningly as he looked up again from scrolling through emails on his phone.

“You know, our party’s own policies forbid you from using personal vehicles while conducting company business. It’s not safe.”

Castiel bristled a little. “Not safe for me, or for you?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Fine. Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

“Thank you. I took this car to try to keep the press from tailing us. No use getting them worked up into a frenzy about why we’re going to the office on a Friday night.”

“Oh. You could have just said that.”

“I would think it was obvious,” Castiel shot back.

Garth cleared his throat and glanced backwards at them through the mirror. “Sorry to eavesdrop. We’re being followed by at least 3 cars I recognize.”

Castiel resisted the urge to look backwards. “No need to apologize. Thank you. Please go to Charlie’s instead of the office. Gabe, call her and let her know we’re coming. I’ll call Kevin.”

They both whipped out their phones and ten minutes later the car pulled into Charlie’s condo building in Brentwood. The press cars veered off in surrender at that point, and Castiel grunted in satisfaction. Since Charlie was on the way to the office, she wasn’t there, but she gave them the numeric code to get in the apartment. As they entered, Gabe discreetly made eye contact with Garth and Devereaux, who took the hint and went back out to the foyer and closed the door.

“So,” Gabriel said with a tense grin as they settled on the couch, “I really thought you were just coming over to tell me the world’s worst dad joke back at the house. _A goat with a banana down his throat?_ ”

Castiel cocked his head quizzically. “Dad joke?”

“It’s...never mind. Would you kindly let me know what the hell is going on now? Please?”

“Yes. Bobby Singer called me out of the blue. That description...it was something Uriel said to him a long time ago about his informant. I knew right away who he meant, of course.”

“Singer couldn’t have told you this earlier? Like months ago? Jesus.”

“Apparently not. I don’t know what happened to make him change his mind and call me.”

“How do you know this isn’t a trick? What motivation did he have to call you?” Gabriel asked with great reluctance. He hated even mentioning the possibility, but they had to consider it.

“I don’t know if it’s a trick, and I don’t know why he called.”

Gabe shook his head. “If it’s true...well, I thought Gadreel was one of our best. Damn. Did he say anything else?”

“Yes, and this strictly stays between you and me. I mean it. You cannot tell a single soul. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Gabriel gulped.

Castiel stood and took his coat off, then folded it over the arm of the chair and sat back down.

“Turns out the reason John agreed to execution was because Lucifer agreed to turn the boys over to me after one year if he pled guilty and died for it. Otherwise, he was going to drag out the trial forever. It’s clear the boys would have ended up indentured for life if so, considering what we’ve learned since then.”

“What the…so, Lucifer basically extorted him.”

“Yes. I’m assuming the FBI wasn’t aware of that detail, because it’s incredibly illegal, needless to say. Either that, or....”

“Or what?”

Castiel took his time answering, knowing his very words were treasonous to the core. “Or the FBI was complicit in this scheme all along. Possibly even the president, too.”

“What the fuck?” exclaimed Gabriel as he leaped to his feet. “Wait, this is too much. I need time to process.”

“I know. Regardless whether I’m right or not, if I take Lucifer down, he loses control of the deeds. They’ll be transferred to the state automatically, not to me.”

Gabriel went deathly pale. “Shit. You’re right. What are you going to do if we can’t vindicate John, then?” he asked hoarsely.

“I don’t know. And without Michael…” He didn’t need to say the rest.

“Jesus, Cas. Do you think Bobby Singer was in on it, too?”

Castiel nodded. “That was my first thought the moment I heard he was the negotiator. You know who his boss is now? Uriel. You know who his boss used to be during the revolution? Uriel. Then John changed sides and they all threatened to kill each other. It all seems very conveniently lined up to settle some scores, doesn’t it?”

Gabe thought about it for a few minutes while they sat together in silence. “Look, Cas, that’s honestly, that is just an insane theory. Maybe some things line up, yes, but the more you look at it, there more problems there are with it. Michael and John were friends, and...no, I just can’t-”

They both jumped as the door from the foyer into the living room opened and Kevin and Charlie came in together.

“Something going on, boss?”

Gabriel and Castiel exchanged knowing looks with each other.

“Yes,” Castiel replied calmly. “Quite the emergency. Sorry to pull you away on a Friday night.”

Charlie dropped her bag next to the side table and headed toward the kitchen. “Alright then. I’d better grab us a few beers before we get started.”

Gabriel looked at Castiel again. “Can I speak to you alone, please? Sorry Kevin, we’ll be right back.”

They both stood up and went into Charlie’s bedroom and shut the door.

“Cas, you know I would never say you’re wrong unless I’m one hundred percent sure you’re wrong. So that’s not what I’m saying, But I have a different theory that you need to hear before we progress.”

“What?”

“I think...look, I know Uriel. You don’t. We worked together in-”

“Yes, yes, I know. What’s your theory?” Castiel urged his confidante impatiently.

Gabriel took a deep breath. “It’s possible Lucifer was trying to _save_ the boys with his offer. He was the one who wanted to trial to end so quickly. You know I hate him, but this...it’s not him. Everything you’ve told me has Uriel written all over it, Cas. I saw firsthand what he was capable of during the revolution. You didn’t come into the picture until after he fell. I was _there_ working with him every single day until then.I’m telling you, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Lucifer and Michael end up being the good guys in this mess and had no knowledge of Uriel’s hand in it.”

Cas stared at him. “That would explain why Michael kept quiet about the documents in the safe. It would have prolonged the trial.”

“It could explain a lot of things if we just take the time to sit down and think about it a little longer before jumping to conclusions. It’s possibly even Bobby was involved at first but changed sides, or maybe he was just as reeled in as Lucifer and only recently started to realize things aren’t adding up. Maybe that’s why he called you. I don’t know.”

“Alright. That’s a second possibility. The third is that Singer is lying. Michael told me he was not as deeply involved as I thought.”

“So...a fourth scenario is that Michael was lying,” breathed Gabriel shakily.

Castiel was looking straight at Gabriel now. “Maybe they’re both lying. Number five.”

Gabe took a deep breath. “Fuck, well..well, let’s look at possibility six. We also have to consider...you’re not going to like this one at all.”

“What could possibly be a worse suggestion than what we already have?” Castiel said with a shrug. “Let’s hear it before I go jump off the balcony and put myself out of my misery.”

Gabriel suddenly had tears in his eyes now, which astonished his friend.

“Gabe? What…”

“Don’t say that again, please.”

Castiel took a step closer to his friend, looking contrite and embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, Gabe. Just frustrated. What’s the sixth scenario, please?”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Not a scenario. An option. We have to consider waiting until after April 1 to make any move at all.”

“That’s…” Cas did the math in his head. “More than six months away.”

“Yes,” Gabriel said shakily. “We wait until you have the boys in your custody. Play it safe. And then...if we have anything a hundred percent solid, we pounce and take Uriel down. Or Lucifer, or the whole FBI or whatever. Who knows right now. But if we _don’t_ get the proof…”

“We let it go,” Castiel finished for him. “And Dean and Sam remain indentured servants in my house for 19 years.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Gabriel nodded and wiped his eyes. “Just...promise me you’ll seriously think about it. We don’t have Michael’s support anymore. Bela and Henriksen aren’t your friends. So if we jump the gun and we’re _right_ , and Lucifer loses those deeds…hell, even if we’re wrong he could refuse to turn them over if he thinks you’re after him. Let’s just say that I very much doubt this alleged agreement exists anywhere in writing. If all we have to do is wait another six months before we make our move, isn’t that worth it? The boys are at a boarding school with Bobby Singer, they’ll be alright.”

Castiel turned away and rubbed his temples hard. “I don’t know what to do. Do you suggest we stop investigating Gadreel until I decide, then?”

“Not at all. If you decide to wait, I say we lay him off with a nice severance package so he can’t do any more damage, or get suspicious, and then we take our time backtracking through everything he’s ever said and done while he was with us.”

“We can’t just lay him off and keep everyone else. Talk about creating suspicion.”

“We’d have to reorganize the entire department, then.”

Cas sighed. “Another cover-up to cover another cover-up. Great.”

“Basically, yes. Remember who we’re doing this for. Two innocent teenagers who probably don’t even know their dad is dead right now.”

Castiel said nothing for a long time. He just stared at a painting on the bedroom wall. Through it, rather.

Gabe prompted eventually, “Cas? Charlie and Kevin are waiting for us.”

“I know. John would know exactly what to do already. He’d be planning every step. I’m not him. I’m…not sure.”

Gabe smiled a little. “I’m glad for that. He would have already gone in with guns blazing, making some stupid impetuous decision that got us all dug in deeper shit than we started with. Yes, thank god you’re not him. I trust you completely to do the right thing, no matter how long it takes.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Cas said quietly. “You just helped me make the decision. We’re going to wait. We’ll tell Kevin and Charlie it was a false alarm. Go ahead and send them home.”

“You’re...this is Charlie’s house, so we’re the ones who need to go home,” Gabriel said gently, without any snark. “Are you sure you want to make a decision this quickly? Maybe you should think on it some more.”

“No. If the FBI couldn’t pin down Uriel’s involvement in six months, it’s arrogant to think I’ll be able to do so on my own.”

“But we have Gadreel now.”

”It’s not worth the risk. We’ll do the reorganization and get rid of him that way. After I get the boys, we look into his actions. Not before then.”

”Cas, I respect your decision and won’t say anything more as long as you can assure me you are okay with potentially letting Uriel get away with framing John and-”

“John’s dead, Gabriel!” Castiel replied hotly. “Forget him now. We can’t risk giving Lucifer a reason to change his mind about handing those deeds over. If we expose Gadreel, we endanger Lucifer. Not worth it. Period.”

Gabe nodded approvingly. “My thoughts exactly. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

”Oh...that’s why you were arguing against your own idea.”

”Devil’s advocate and all. Someone’s gotta play the part.”

“Well, good job. It’s decided then. Let’s go home, Gabe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: In case you were wondering: Castiel is not yet aware that Bobby actually owns the deeds, not Lucifer. There is a reason for this that will be addressed later. He also will learn the real reason Michael was fired.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you weren't disappointed by Castiel's decision to hold tight and do nothing. He isn’t giving up.


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place 2 months after the previous chapter.

**Los Angeles**

**November 1, 1995**

_“Well you asked me to talk, so now I’m talking.”_

_Lucifer closed his eyes in pain and shifted the phone to his other ear. “I’ve changed my mind. I want you to stop.”_

_“Why?” Castiel asked nonchalantly. “You are the one who said I can’t ignore you forever.”_

_“On policy matters, yes. You’re basically just antagonizing me for the fun of it right now, which I really don’t appreciate.”_

_“I have an idea, then.”_

_“What?”_

_Castiel smiled to himself. “Maybe if you take your tiny little hands off your tiny little dick, you can use them to cover your ears so you can’t hear me anymore.”_

_“Fuck you, Castiel. You’re never getting the deeds now.”_

BEEEEEP. BEEEEEEP. BEEEEEP. BEEEEEEP.

Castiel groggily reached over to slam his hand down on his alarm clock for the second time. For several long moments he wasn’t sure where he was, until the rapidly increasing movement of Angela’s ticklish tail against his feet caught his attention and eventually brought him back home.

“Hey sweetie,” Cas said with a dry grumble as he reached over and scratched her head, then cracked one eye open. She inched up closer to him on her belly - like a soldier crawling under a barbed wire obstacle course, Castiel mused idly - and lay alongside him with wide eyes. Time for breakfast, or perhaps she really needed to poop. Both, most likely.

He felt the bed bounce once, and then twice, as the other two dogs jumped up and joined in the plea for their human to rise. Castiel closed his eyes again, but he was wide awake already. Today was the day he had agreed to finally speak with Lucifer after eight months of avoiding any kind of contact with the Opportunists, and to say he wasn’t looking forward to it was a massive understatement. He reached over for his cell phone and dialed Gabriel.

“Hey, boss. Did you finally get some sleep, I hope?”

“Yeah.”

“Today’s the day,” Gabe reminded him unnecessarily.

“I know. I was just dreaming about how badly the conversation might go. Gabe…”

“Don’t chicken out, Cas. You got this. You’ve been rehearsing for weeks.”

Castiel looked at his three dogs. No...his dog, and Dean and Sam’s two dogs. The latter two’s happiness depended on every move he made next.

“Listen, I have to tell you something important. Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “I got a hold of Michael last night. Finally.”

There was a long pause on the other end. “You agreed not to drag him back into-”

“I know. Just listen. He confirmed the deal was legit, that the boys are mine again on April 1. I just...I wanted to thank you, Gabe. For convincing me to wait. You were right. But now I have a favor to ask you, and you’re not going to like it.”

Gabriel took a deep breath, then picked his coffee back up. “Is this request going to result in an argument, by chance?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck. Not sure I’ve had enough coffee yet.”

Castiel ignored that. “If Henriksen doesn’t confirm me tomorrow as new leader of the party, I want you to start the proceedings to take over.”

“No.”

“Gabe-”

“I said no, Cas, and that’s the end of it.” Gabriel went to the other end of his office and shut the door hard. “You go, I go. End of story. Besides, he has no reason not to confirm you.”

“Even if he does, I’m not sure I even want to bring the boys back into this life. You know what it’s like, Gabe. I work 14 hours a day. It’s not fair to them. John was...he was so absent from their lives, and never knew most of the time where they were or what they were up to. I can’t do that to them. I should quit.”

“Under different circumstances, yes. But you’ve forgotten one thing.”

“What?”

Gabriel took another deep breath. “Don’t hate me for saying it, Cas. But it’s got to be said. They’re not your sons.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“They’ll be your servants.”

“Yes,” Castiel huffed. “As if I could possibly need another reminder. What’s your point?”

“You know what my point is. They have to live by certain guidelines, or you’re going to be in serious shit. You can’t take them out sailing, or to museums, or what have you. Exactly what kind of quality time do you plan on having?”

“I’m not going to get into that right now,” Castiel replied calmly. “It’s putting the cart before the bridge.”

“Horse, Cas. What else did Michael say?”

“The horse before the bridge, then. You know what I mean.”

“It’s _cart_ before the _horse_. Are you going to tell me what else he said, or are we going to debate metaphors all day?”

“It’s an idiom, not a metaphor. He also said he was fined an enormous amount by the FBI for his role in the ending the Uriel investigation prematurely.”

“As we figured. Damn. Did you tell him about Gadreel?”

“No, that was all. He hung up on me after saying he was going to block my number. That was literally our entire conversation, unfortunately. But what he did tell me was huge, and makes me feel a lot better about dealing with Lucifer now.”

Castiel paused as he heard the incoming call beep on his phone. Speak of the devil.

“What the hell?” he wondered aloud. “He’s calling me now.”

“Did you have the time wrong? Forget to account for time zones, or whatever?”

“No. Hold on.”

Castiel clicked over to the other line.

“Novak.”

“Castiel, sorry to call earlier than scheduled. I was hoping we can meet in person instead of over the phone.”

“Um. When?”

“Today. I’m in San Diego and can send my jet up for you.”

 _And crash it into the side of a mountain just for kicks_. “No, thank you. Phone is fine.”

“It’s incredibly important, and for your ears only,” Lucifer urged. “But I can’t come up to Los Angeles, for the same reasons you won’t go to Denver.”

“I’m not going to San Diego, either.”

There was a sigh on the other line. “Fine. Palm Springs?”

“No. I will consider Temecula. There’s a vineyard there with private space. The manager is a good friend of mine and very discreet. That’s your only option. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it. 2pm?”

“That’s fine. I’ll email you with details.”

“No. Call me back. Put nothing in writing to me or to your friend. What’s the name of the vineyard?”

“Ponte Inn. May I ask, why do you-”

The line went dead, and Castiel held the phone and stared at it like it was made of lava. “What the…” Then he remembered Gabriel was still on the other line, and he clicked back over.

“Sorry, Gabriel. He just wanted to reconfirm the time of our meeting.” Castiel flushed a little; he hated lying to his friend but he wasn’t quite sure yet what had just happened, and wasn’t willing to admit he’d made a rash decision to meet his rival in person. Secretly, no less.

“Did you manage to do that without pissing him off?”

“Of course. I’d better go. Lots to prepare, and I haven’t read over the policy documents enough to memorize the big points. I’ll do the call from home.”

“I think that’s for the best,” agreed Gabriel. “No chance of anyone overhearing anything. But please do call me right after and tell me everything.”

“I will, of course.”

\-----------------------------------

**Insurrectionists HQ - Los Angeles**

**1pm**

Gabriel sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time today as he pored over more newspaper articles relating to the rumors that John was no longer among the living. The FBI had of course said nothing, and neither had the Insurrectionists. Castiel had a brief call with Bela to discuss, but she was certain that it was all idle speculation and not an information leak. Gabriel wasn’t so sure, but so far, nobody seemed to be taking it very seriously. That made him feel a little better, but not much.

His concentration was suddenly broken by a knock on his door, and he hit the button on his desk that unlocked it remotely. “Yes? Come in.”

His assistant came in and handed him a packet. “Courier just came by and dropped this off for  you and Castiel.”

“Thank you.” Gabriel waited until she was gone and then ripped the packet open, and then picked up the phone to call Cas, who didn’t answer.

“Cas, we just got something at the office you need to see for your call with...for your 2pm call, rather. The updated measures for December, and it’s way too big to fax over. Looks like quite a few changes in verbiage you two will need to discuss. Call me back.”

Gabriel rang for Charlie, who came immediately. “Sorry to turn you into an errand girl, but I need you to take this over to Castiel’s house immediately. He’ll need it for a 2pm conference call he’s taking from home. Use my driver. Thanks, love.”

Gabriel went back to his coffee and articles, and thought nothing else of it until Charlie called him 45 minutes later.

“Hey Charlie, everything okay?”

“No,” Charlie replied, a little bewildered. “He’s not home.”

Gabriel looked at his watch; it was nearly time for the call. “What? Are you sure?”

“I’m certain. He has one guard on watch, but the car and other two guards are gone. Toby said he was too busy for visitors, but he’s obviously not there. I’m waiting outside just in case he shows up. If he doesn’t, what do you want me to do with this?”

“I’ll call you right back.”

Gabe called Cas at the house and on his cell, but only got the option to leave a voicemail. Then he tried Devereaux, and Garth. Both went straight to voicemail. Now he was alarmed, and made the decision to call Kevin in telecommunications for assistance.

“Yes, boss?”

“Sorry to bother you, Kev. I can’t get a hold of Castiel and it’s critical. Can you let me know if his phone is turned on?”

“Sure. One moment.”

Gabriel swallowed hard; it wasn’t odd for Cas to ignore everyone and disappear off the radar when he got overly focused on a task. But him not being home for such a crucial phone call, not to mention both his guards unreachable as well? That was another story...

“Sir?” Kevin sounded concerned.

“Yeswhatisit?” Gabriel blurted quickly.

“I’m showing his phone is not turned off, physically, but it doesn’t have a signal. He’s out of range.”

“What? _Out of range_? Where was it last located?”

“I can’t...you know it’s against policy for me to tell you that, sir.”

Gabriel smiled a little; he was the one who had written the policy. “It’s a matter of his personal safety, Kevin. I take complete responsibility and will report it to Castiel myself. Where was the phone last detected?”

There was a telling pause. “Can you send an authorization email first, please?”

“Of course.” Gabriel reached over to his laptop and yanked up the lid, then banged out a quick message to both men explaining what he had just asked Kevin to do, taking great care to emphasize that Kevin had first refused exactly as protocol demanded.

“Sent. Tell me when you receive it.”

“Received, thank you. I’m showing that phone last pinged a cell tower in Temecula 17 minutes ago. Let me check the address….that tower is located at the intersection of Meadows Parkway and Rancho California Road. That doesn’t mean it’s exactly where he was, he could be anywhere within a few miles of it.”

Gabriel knew exactly where he was, cell phone tower be damned. He was meeting with Lucifer in person at Ponte Inn...in secret, for some reason. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he would learn afterwards that Gabriel was spying on him and it wasn’t really a secret at all.

_Fuck. I’ll be lucky to have a job at all after today, never mind what Henriksen says..._

“Alright, thanks Kevin. That explains what I needed to know. Appreciate it,” Gabriel finally said in a strangled tone. “Have a nice afternoon.”

\-------------

**Temecula, 2pm**

Castiel set down his briefcase as he entered the small boardroom, where he found Lucifer awaiting him. The man looked incredibly nervous for a change, and Cas wasn’t sure what to make of it. His own heart started beating overly fast in response.

“Good day,” he said politely as he took off his coat and sat down. He wanted to ask what the hell was so important about the December measures that required a last-second, in-person meeting, but he refrained with some difficulty.

“Good afternoon,” responded Lucifer. “Is this room bugged, or do you have any recording devices on you?”

“No to both questions. Are _you_ recording us?”

“No.”

Castiel didn’t touch the papers he had brought along. “I take it we’re not going to be discussing the December measures.”

“I don’t know if we’ll have time.”

“You’re nervous,” Castiel observed calmly. “Why?”

Lucifer shifted in his chair, then picked up a pen and started tapping it on the table. “I know you hate me, Castiel. For what happened to John, and all that. Can’t say I blame you.”

“ _All that_?” Cas echoed mockingly. “Bit of an understatement, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps, yes. I think that the way everything went down was tragic, but for the best. Just my opinion, with which you obviously disagree.”

Castiel didn’t take his eyes off his enemy. “I'm curious. What gave you the idea that your _opinion_ matters to me?”

Lucifer laughed nervously, then set his pen down. “Alright. I can see John rubbed off on you more than I thought. I’m not going to fight with you. I...what I’m about to tell you is going to cost both of us our jobs, most likely. If you don’t want to hear it, you should leave now.”

Now it was Castiel’s turn to squirm in his chair. “I’m listening.”

“Alright. I was in a meeting with Uriel yesterday, and he left his cell phone behind. I was taking it to him when it rang.”

“Okay.”

“And because I was a little distracted, I picked it up, thinking it was my own.”

“Who was it?”

Lucifer swallowed hard. “One of my former operatives whom Uriel had assured me we were no longer in contact with. I mean, for like...ten months. Asking for payment from me for his latest services to the Opportunists that I supposedly authorized.”

Castiel stared the man down hard. “You told the FBI and John that you had no more double agents. In fact, you used that claim to force us to disband our own counter-intelligence operations.”

“Now we get down to why I’m so nervous. This proves, as I suspected months ago, that Uriel is running his own operation without my knowledge. It goes without saying that Michael leaving the FBI was the fatal blow in my attempt to prove it.”

“I see. A minute ago you said that this information would cost both of us our jobs. You, yes, but I don’t see what I have to do with it.”

“Right. Well, that’s where the next part comes in. I know you’ve been in contact with Bobby Singer, contrary to the terms of the confidentiality agreement you signed with the FBI. Simply put, I won’t hesitate to blow the whistle on you if you don’t answer my next question truthfully.”

Castiel sat up straighter in his chair, his chest tight with anxiety and impending sense of doom. He couldn’t even say anything back, he was _that_ flabbergasted.

Lucifer continued calmly, “I want to know exactly why this man was laid off. My suspicion is that you somehow became aware of his activities, or at least suspected him of being a mole.”

“I want to know how _you know_ he was laid off, since you claim to not be in contact with him anymore.”

“Uriel told me some time ago when I asked if we could possibly use the man’s services again. I asked only to see what he’d say, and had no intention of actually carrying it through.”

Castiel desperately wanted to flee the room. It was getting hot.

“I don’t know what you want,” he said finally.

“To bring down Uriel. You have at least some kind of proof of the scheme, and you know what that could mean. I’ll give you a few minutes to think about it anyway,” Lucifer said dangerously, in control again. He was always a hundred times more intimidating when the ball was in his court.

“Answer me first,” Castiel responded, his tone edgy and hard. “What _services_ did he want payment for, exactly?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the truth. From what little he said, it’s clear he genuinely thinks I’m in on the whole thing. I’m not, needless to say, but I played along long enough to allay his suspicion. So why did you separate him from your company? Did you get an inkling of what he was doing?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Let’s get one thing clear first, Lucifer. I’m not impressed by your threats. I have no interest in what blackmail designs you have in mind. What I want to do is bring down Uriel, and if I can help you do that, I’m all in. But you need to give me something, first. Otherwise I can’t trust you with a single word out of my mouth.”

Lucifer looked at him out of the sides of his eyes. “What could you possibly want more than my silence?”

“The deeds to Sam and Dean. _Now_ , not on April 1. I’ll pay the penalty for early transfer, whatever it is, I don’t care. Just see it done and I’ll give you all the information you want.”

“No. They’ll be the only leverage I have left if this goes south.”

“Leverage? They’re _kids!”_

Lucifer scoffed. “Oh come on, you’re just as guilty as I am trying to use them as a bargaining chip. Didn’t you literally just ask me to trade them over in exchange for information?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, knowing he was defeated on that point. Then he ripped a piece of paper from his notebook and tore it in half, giving one to Lucifer.

“You’re right. But let’s get started off correctly. We don’t even know if we’re talking about the same person. Write down this alleged mole’s name. I’ll do the same. Then we exchange papers and open them at the same time. If the names are different, I leave now and we’ll never speak of this again. If they’re the same, I’ll cooperate with you. Agreed?”

Lucifer nodded. “You do realize that if the names are different, you’ll end up with the knowledge of two possible moles, and I’ll have absolutely nothing?”

“Nothing? You mean, like what I’m getting out of this if the names are the same? Write it down.”

Lucifer obliged grudgingly, then passed his folded up paper over to Castiel at the same time he received one.

Castiel looked down at what was handed to him, and his heart flipped as he read it:

_Gadreel_

He looked across the table to Lucifer, who un-folded his own paper and looked down at it. He seemed stunned as he set it facedown on the table, very slowly.

“Alright. It seems I owe you an apology,” he said quietly. “Bringing you out here for nothing. But at least you know you had two moles now, and who they are. I have no fucking clue how to proceed now.”

Castiel stood up and started to put his coat on. “Well, I suppose I should thank you for trying. At least we agree on one thing. Uriel is a dangerous, manipulative liar.”

“He’s not the only one. Takes one to know one, am I right?”

Cas paused, one arm in and one arm out of his coat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just...the name I gave you? It’s real. The one you gave me is fake, isn't it? Andrew P., really? Generic much?”

 _Oh, shit_. “What makes you think it’s fake?” Castiel scoffed offhandedly, although his cheeks started to flush as Lucifer sat back with a smug expression and crossed his arms.

"Is it for real?"

"Yes, that's him. Obviously I didn't give the last name for privacy's sake."

“Hmm. Funny thing. I didn’t think it was fake at first, actually. Just thought I’d throw it out there to see what happens. Did you know you blush like a little girl when you lie?”

Castiel did know that, actually. It had caused much embarrassment in the past. “I’m not lying.”

“Another lie, and you’re getting even darker. Look, Castiel, I get it. You don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. But there’s one thing I want you to know before you go.”

“What?”

Lucifer uncrossed his arms and laid his hands flat on the table. “I may be an insufferable, annoying, smug piece of shit to you. But I saved those boys from a _lifetime_ of servitude, and that’s the truth. You know who condemned them first, though? It wasn’t Uriel, and it certainly wasn’t me.”

He meant John, of course. Castiel nodded. “I know that John...did some things,” he admitted.

“Yes, he did. But what compelled him to do those things in the first place?”

Castiel looked at the floor and thought about it. “Uriel, I suppose, when it all boils down to it. Goes way back.”

“Correct. Chicken and the egg, Castiel. They were each other’s own worst enemies.”

“Don’t lecture me.”

“The cycle was broken when John paid the price, but I’m not going to let Uriel get away with it. Especially since what he’s done is going to be the end of me, too. I know that prospect cheers you. So I’m going to ask again...why did you suspect Gadreel was working with him?”

Castiel continued staring at the floor for a minute, then slowly removed his coat and sat back down into the chair. After a moment, he pulled the desk phone over and positioned it exactly in between both of them.

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly and calling Bela together. Right now. The first thing you’re going to tell her is that you’re signing the deeds over to Gabriel today.”

“Gabriel? Not you?”

“Correct. I’ll have to tell her about my involvement with Bobby Singer in order to explain how I got the intel on Gadreel. But I’d rather go to jail than keep those boys in servitude for one more day in an Opportunists indoctrination center. Understood?”

Lucifer looked aghast. “That’s not what it is. Wait a minute...just a second. _Bobby Singer_ told you it was Gadreel?”

“Not directly. I’ll explain it to her. Are we proceeding, or not?”

Lucifer inhaled sharply, realizing that Castiel had no idea Bobby held the deeds to the boys. If they got Singer in trouble...well, shit. Then he may not release the deeds out of spite, or even lose them outright. But if Castiel knew that, he would never in a million years cooperate at this point. All he had to do was wait until April 1, after all, and the boys were his. Lucifer held out his hand and decided not to mention that little detail.

“Yes. I’ve got your back, and I expect you to have mine. If you can agree to that, then let’s do it.”

Castiel shook it after significant hesitation. Then Lucifer started dialing Bela while Cas did everything in his power not to vomit all over the table.

\-----------------------------

**THREE HOURS LATER**

Castiel looked at his phone’s emails for the first time when they were almost near the house, and he practically exploded when he saw that Gabriel had been tracking his location.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered angrily, and Devereaux looked back at him over the headrest.

“Sorry, sir?”

Castiel put down his phone. “Nothing. Did you have any missed calls from Gabriel today?”

“Yes, sir. There was no signal at the meeting complex.”

“Okay. Let’s swing by his house, please. I’ll only need a minute, so wait in the car.”

“Shall we alert his guards that you’re coming?”

“Yes, please.” Castiel had the habit of springing up on people unexpectedly, although he didn’t intend to. He just assumed the other person would know, naturally.

Gabriel was waiting at the front door when they pulled up, and he silently led Castiel to his study. Both men were bursting at the seams with anger and confusion.

“Don’t ever track me again,” Castiel began, then held up a hand when Gabriel started to protest. “That’s the end of it. No need to explain, no need to apologize. Just don’t repeat the mistake.”

“Fine. Do you care to explain why you ran off and secretly met with Lucifer in a non-secure location? This is bullshit, Cas, you can’t do that to me. I’m supposed to know everything.”

“Calm down. You’re officially on the know-nothing list as of right now. My meeting with Lucifer wasn’t about the measures, that’s all I’m going to say.”

“What the-”

“Quiet, please. There’s something I have to tell you. It couldn’t wait until morning.”

Gabriel did calm down, although, he hated to be told to calm down. That only made things worse, but something in Castiel’s bearing stopped him from blowing up any further.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in genuine concern, and not a little fear.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, Gabriel, I really am.”

“Are you...are you _firing_ me, Cas?”

Castiel looked askance at him. “What? No. God, I wish it was just that.”

“ _Just that_? Okay, what the hell is going on?”

“Is your basement still equipped for servant’s quarters?”

“Uhhhh...we haven’t gotten around to remodeling the rooms, but they’re being used as storage for the moment. Why would you ask such a thing?”

Castiel reached into his jacket and started to hand over a poor copy of a fax that had already been almost unreadable to start with.

“What is this? I can’t make it out.”

“Deeds. I’ll have to explain later, but the boys belong to you now. Dean and Sam, I mean. Can you put the rooms back in order for them? They should arrive within 48 hours, but I don’t have their flight information yet. When I do, I’ll pass it along.”

Gabriel didn’t take the paper. He was white as a ghost.

“Cas…what in the holy fuck is going on. Tell me right now.”

Castiel looked him in the eyes and said matter-of-factly, “I can’t. Please just take good care of them until I get things all sorted out. I’m flying to Richmond tonight to collect them in the morning and see them off, then I’ll be in Philadelphia for the rest of the week.”

“Are you...holy shit, did you get arrested?”

“Not yet, but the possibility is there until I can get some things cleared up. That's why I didn't have the deeds transferred to me.”

Gabriel was astonished to see Castiel actually smiling a little. He was...was he _happy_? Happy about _what?_

“Have you been drinking, Cas?”

“No.” His smile fell off abruptly. “Gabriel, I need help with something else. I’m going to have to tell them about John before they find out on their own. If you have any ideas…I have no idea what to say.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Regardless, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and then put them on a plane by themselves. I’m coming with you and we’ll talk about it on the way over, and I’ll fly back with them. What time are you leaving?”

“In two hours. We’ll pick you up, of course. Are you sure?”

“Yes. Let me get packed and tell Amelia what’s happening. Call me when you’re about ten minutes away.”

“I will. Thanks, Gabe,” Castiel said warmly, and they gave each other a small but manly hug.

“Sorry for my initial response, but it was quite the shock. Of course we’re thrilled to have Sam and Dean back. It’s going to be strange, though...wow. Servants. I can’t wrap my brain around it.”

“Me either. See you in two hours.”

“Cas?” Gabe called as his friend started to walk away.

“Yes?”

“We’re taking a private plane, I’m guessing?”

Castiel nodded.

“You should bring the dogs,” Gabe said firmly. “They’re the best kind of therapy.”

“Good idea. Thanks. See you soon.”

 


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't quite himself in this one, just FYI. He’s been through a lot, and he still thinks Castiel orchestrated John’s downfall. So, yeah....this chapter is a little dark.

**Los Angeles - same evening**

“I’m on the way. Please bring your checkbook.”

Gabriel refrained from groaning; he knew Castiel would pay him back without being asked. “Oh god, the early transfer fees. How much is the damage this time?”

“Three hundred thousand. Needless to say-”

“I know.”

Castiel paused. “That’s per deed, by the way.”

“Of course it is.” Gabriel tried not to grimace at his wife, who was standing a few feet away after having zipped up her husband’s little suitcase.

“We’re coming up the driveway, now,” Castiel grunted.

“Be right there. Thanks.”

Gabriel hung up and turned to his wife. “I’m so sorry about this, Amelia.”

“It’s alright,” she said quickly. “I’ve already said a hundred times that I’m glad the boys are coming.”

Gabriel noticed her eyes were wet and red all of a sudden, and he quickly wiped away the emerging tears and hugged her tight. “I’ll call our movers first thing in the morning to clear out the basement and set those rooms to rights again. Don’t worry, you won’t have to do a thing except let them in and point the way-”

“That’s not what I’m upset about. You know we have three empty bedrooms upstairs, right?”

“Please don’t start, Amelia. I don’t like it either, but they have to live downstairs. That’s the law.”

She pulled away abruptly. “I wonder who’s fault _that_ is.”

“You’re not being fair. Sweetheart, can you go get the checkbook while I take this suitcase outside? Please?”

“I’m not letting them live in the basement, Gabe. It's cold, and dark. They’re John’s kids, not some old luggage we can just leave in a corner and forget about until they’re needed.”

Gabriel almost retorted something bitter about her not feeling the same about their previous servants, but instead, he stepped forward to gently wipe her hair off her face and lay his hands on her shoulders. “Sweetie, you know we can’t have them living upstairs. I’m not going to fight you about it. Their rooms will be in the basement, and that’s final.”

“Final for you, maybe. Not for me. You know Sam’s afraid of the dark. He wouldn’t even go into the basement of his own house in broad daylight. John’s going to be pissed when he hears about this, law or not. You’re his best friend, and those are your godsons!”

Gabriel ignored the sudden lump in his throat and let a dark edge creep into his tone. “I have to go. The basement needs to be ready for them by the time I get back. If it’s not, they’ll be sleeping on boxes and luggage until it is, and I’ll lock them down there if necessary. Are we clear?”

Amelia eyed her husband curiously, and her expression softened. “From your reaction to me mentioning John, I’m guessing the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?” he asked needlessly, and that was all the answer she needed. Her eyes glistened again.

“Oh god. Do they know?”

Gabriel hesitated, but ultimately declined to answer outright. “Babe, you know I love Dean and Sam as much as I love our own kids. That’s exactly why I’m insisting we follow the law. They could be taken away if we don’t. Not worth the risk.”

“Fine. Basement it is. But we’re taking their dogs in, too,” she replied with steely determination.

“Of course.” He leaned over and kissed her on forehead. “Seriously, I’ve gotta go. Love you.”

\-------------

**Richmond, Virginia**

Dean had tossed and turned all night long, more restless than he’d been in months. When his alarm went off at 6am, he couldn’t believe that he’d only gotten about an hour of sleep while his brother had slept soundly and peacefully for at least 7 hours straight.

“Sam,” he called, their usual morning ritual starting a bit early; usually Dean was only coherent after hitting the snooze button half a dozen times.

“ _Sam_. Sammy. Samantha. Sam I am. I am Sam. Am I Sam?”

_“Shut up, Dean.”_

Dean started to sing his usual morning song - something from Sesame Street he’d heard ages ago, but with some variation of “Sam” substituting every word - when the shadow of someone walking up and standing in front of the door stopped him in his tracks. He laid back down and covered himself up entirely, just in time. The door shuddered opened with a squeal, and then slowly the room became brighter and brighter.

“Dean. I know you’re awake. Get dressed and come with me, kiddo.”

Dean pulled the blanket down just enough to peek out. He hadn’t been in trouble in weeks, but that tone of voice indicated otherwise, and he started to tremble.

“What did I do?” he asked nervously. There was no reply; the door shut again and the shadow stayed put. He looked over at his brother.

“What did you do?” Sam asked fearfully.

“Nothing.” He got up anyway, and quickly threw on his clothes and shoes, and also a jacket so that he could pretend the cold was causing shivers instead of anxiety.

“Dean…”

“It’s okay, Sammy. I got this.” Dean was far more nervous than he would admit as he pulled open the door. Bobby Singer was still waiting on the other side, looking grim.

“You’re not in trouble, but you’re not going to like what’s next, either. You gotta promise me you’ll keep your mouth shut until it’s over. I want absolute silence, or else. Got me?”

Dean stared at him in dismay. “Is that, like...a threat?”

“If it has to be. Follow me.”

He led the bewildered teenager to a building on the far edge of campus, way past the point Dean was allowed to go, and yes - it was damned cold. Now he was shaking from anxiety _and_ the chill. The sun was turning the sky purple above the treeline.

“You’re freaking me out, Bobby,” he finally said. “I mean, Mr. Singer. Sorry.”

Bobby turned towards him at the door of the plain building, which clearly housed some kind of administrative function. “I’m dead serious, Dean. Silence unless you are asked to speak directly, in which case it will probably be yes or no questions. And you’re going to stick to yes or no. Clear?”

“Wait, can’t you just give-”

“ _Dean_.”

Dean put his hands in his pockets and shivered. “Yes. It’s clear.”

“Thank you. Hands out of your pockets, stand up straight. Let’s go.”

They forged ahead and quickly turned into a room which could only belong to someone very high up in the hierarchy of the school, because the room made Bobby Singer’s office look like a dilapidated shack.

Before Dean could fully take in his surroundings, a heavy door on the far side opened with a loud click. When Gabriel and Castiel walked through, Dean nearly pissed himself in surprise. He was vaguely aware of Bobby tightly squeezing his arm to keep him in place as a third man emerged after Gabriel, but Dean didn’t know him.

“Quiet, Dean,” Bobby grumbled warningly. “Stay still.”

The third man came forward and stood in front of Dean. “I’m Mr. Alistair, the president of this school. We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.”

“Pleasure?” Dean blurted hotly, and Bobby squeezed his arm painfully, but subtly enough that the other men in the room didn’t notice. Then he let go, and Dean felt himself wishing he hadn’t, because he didn’t know if he could resist the urge to flee from the room as quickly as possible.

Dean didn’t look at his two “uncles,” but he had turned bright red at the first sight of them. Castiel had noticed it, of course, and didn’t approach him as planned. Bobby realized Castiel had expected a much happier welcome, but he was about to be sorely disappointed.

Mr. Alistair looked at Bobby and nodded, then back to Dean. “Dean, the deeds to you and Sam have been transferred to Gabriel Angel. You’ll both be leaving our school today to travel back to Los Angeles with him and take up residence in his home. How long do you think you’ll need to pack?”

 _So much for those yes or no questions,_ Dean thought idly. He forced himself to remain polite. “I want to stay here. Sam will as well, so no need to ask him. Thank you, though.”

The room went dead silent, except for Gabriel’s sharp intake of breath, and Bobby felt rather than saw the hot glare from Castiel directed at him specifically.

Alistair gathered his wits and then spoke again. “I’m afraid you don’t have any say in the matter. Return to your room and pack, please. As quickly as you can manage. Thank you, Mr. Singer.”

Castiel stepped forward. “Just a minute, please. I want to talk to Dean before he goes.”

Alistair hesitated. “Gabriel is his deed holder, so technically you need his permi-”

“He can talk to him,” Gabe interrupted firmly. “Got a room they can use?”

\-----

Castiel stood a respectful distance away from John’s oldest son and tried not to let his own disappointment and surprise dictate what he said next.

“Dean, please explain why you would want to stay here. I’m not understanding why you would say such a hurtful thing. We’ve all but moved heaven and earth to get you back.”

Dean stared at him stonily, all defiance and stubbornness. “I refuse to believe you’re that stupid,” he nearly spit out. “You know why!”

Castiel held his hands out in a _what the hell are you talking about_ gesture. “No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Go fuck yourself. You act like we’d be going home, like you’re doing us a favor...but you want us to be _Gabriel’s servants_!”

“You’re going to be servants no matter what, Dean. Might as well be with someone you trust, and who loves you. You’re extremely lucky it all worked out this way.”

Dean laughed a little. “Lucky. Yeah. I _don’t_ trust him, and I definitely don’t trust you. I repeat: go fuck yourself. How much did you pay for us, anyway?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars. Each. But Gabriel and I would have spent every last penny, and begged and borrowed if we had to, in order to get you out of here. Your dad, by the way, wanted exactly this. So don’t tell me you aren’t coming. I won’t accept it, because it dishonors his efforts and sacrifice.”

Dean seemed truly taken aback by that - deeply stunned, actually - and had no immediate reply.

“Listen, Dean,” Castiel said quietly, in desperate surrender. “Whatever’s happened, we can talk about it later. I’ve got a plane waiting on the tarmac for you at Richmond Airport. Your dogs are inside, waiting for you boys. I’m not going to let them be disappointed.”

Castiel was inexpressibly relieved to see Dean visibly calm down at that. “My...my dogs?”

“Yes. Starsky and Hutch are not even 20 miles away. I had to leave Angela at home, but she’s waiting for you, too. I know you have questions about your dad, and I’ll answer them. But not here. I want to get you the hell out of here as quickly as possible, before Bobby can change his mind.”

Again, Dean was stunned. “What does Bobby have to do with this?”

Castiel replied calmly, “He owns your deeds. I’ve already given over the check to pay for them, and Gabriel’s got provisional custody...but until you sign the transfer, he can change his mind. Which he might do, by the way, if you continue to behave like this.”

It was obvious Dean had no idea Bobby held his deed, and - exactly as Castiel hoped - the knowledge quickly obliterated Dean’s warm feelings towards the man.

“You mean he didn’t ever bother to tell us that he _owned_ us? This whole time? What the fuck! That’s sick.”

“Language, Dean, please. He didn’t bother to tell me, either. I just found out today. All indentured servants have the right to refuse transfer, or request one, if they feel their personal safety is in peril. It’s one of the many laws put in place for your protection. You and Sam will have to sign the new deeds and approve your own transfer. I’m asking you to please do that, and not fight about it.”

“I’m not signing anything until you tell me where my dad is and what happened to him,” Dean decided firmly. “Right now, in this room. Not later.”

Castiel had gone over this exact scenario with Gabriel on the plane. He knew that was going to be Dean’s reaction all along, and was prepared. But that still didn’t make it any easier. He swallowed a few times and then took a deep breath.

“No. Not here."

The door open and Mr. Alistair stepped in. “Gentlemen, time to wrap it up. Dean, out.”

Dean went instantly and without argument, to Castiel’s surprise and relief.

“Mr. Novak, I hope you convinced the boy this is for the best.”

“I don’t know. I hope.”

They went back into the office, where Dean took the new deed from Bobby and read over it a few times. Then he looked back up - pointedly aiming a question directly at Gabriel, not Castiel.

“Where are my dogs?”

Gabriel answered nervously, having just heard a brief explanation from Bobby in the meantime exactly what the hell was going on between Dean and Castiel. “Your very bad dogs are on the plane at Richmond Airfield. They made a nice snack out of the new upholstery somewhere over Kansas when we weren’t looking, but I know you’ll ensure they behave on the way back.”

He thought that would cheer Dean up, but it did nothing. He was as determined and steely-eyed as he’d ever been.

“Haven’t agreed to go back yet. I have conditions. I understand we have to live in the basement, technically, but Sam gets a room to sleep in upstairs at night.”

Gabriel started a little, then nodded. “Agreed.”

“Gabe-” interrupted Cas.

“No, it’s fine. Sam sleeps upstairs when we don’t have guests, and the poolhouse if we do. Any other conditions?”

“He starts homeschooling again.”

“No, Dean.” That was from Castiel. “Absolutely not. There are laws Gabriel has to follow in order to keep custody of you boys. We can bend some to your needs, but this isn’t one of them.”

Dean nodded. “Fine. No corporal punishment for him, then.”

Gabriel nodded readily. “Or you, Dean. You have my word. If that’s all, please go ahead and sign so we can get the hell out of here.”

“It’s not all. You’re going to tell me and Sam what happened with dad. Not him.” Dean threw a glare at Castiel, then back to Gabriel. “That brings me to my last condition. You will never ask me to assist Castiel in any way, or even speak to him. At the dinner table, at functions, whatever. I won’t do it. After today, the bastard doesn’t exist as far as I’m concerned.”

“A moment, gentlemen, please,” said Bobby as he stepped into the tense little circle and took Dean’s arm, then pulled him into the same room where he’d spoken with Castiel earlier and slammed the door behind them.

“Owners aren’t allowed to touch their servants without their consent, Mr. Singer,” Dean warned as he jerked his elbow away.

Bobby froze. This was the exact reason he’d never told the boys he had their deeds.

“Dean, calm down. I’ve told you before, Castiel doesn’t deserve to be treated that way. If you only knew the shit he’s been through in the past eight months trying to get you freed, you’d be kissing his ass. Get back in there and apologize before I cane the crap out of you as a parting gift.”

“Do it,” Dean challenged. “I’m not apologizing.”

The door opened again and Castiel pushed in impatiently. “Let him go, Mr. Singer. It’s alright. I agreed to those terms. Dean, it’s time to make a decision. Come on. Out, both of you.”

With a final glare at Bobby, Dean strode from the room. “I’m not signing until Sam does. Mr. Alistair, will you kindly walk me back to my room? I don’t know how to get there from here.”

“Mr. Singer will walk you back.”

“I’m not going anywhere with him.”

“Mr. Singer will walk you back,” Mr. Alistair repeated patiently. “Mr. Novak and Mr. Angel will depart for the airport now and wait for you there. You never told me how long it will take you to pack.”

“Half an hour, at the most. If we decide to leave, that is.”

“Very well. I’ll remain here with the deeds. Good day, gentlemen.”

ONE HOUR LATER

Dean had already known, of course, that Sam would instantly capitulate, no matter how his big brother felt about Castiel. He hated being trained as a house servant, and was happy and energetic as the car pulled up to take them and Bobby Singer to Richmond Airfield, with the few belongings they still had between in one bag and the new deeds in a sealed envelope in the other.

After a few minutes, Sam spoke up. “Aren’t you happy, Dean? Oh my god. We’re going home.”

“You mean to Gabriel’s house. As his servants.”

“Servants, students, whatever. Same thing. We practically grew up there. It’s like home.” Dean fell silent while Sam leaned up against him. “Uncle Cas made this happen, Dean.”

Bobby watched the elder Winchester through the rearview mirror. He didn’t like what he saw as Dean slouched back further, the look in his eyes increasingly dark and lifeless by the second.

“You’re right about that, Sam. We can thank Castiel for all of this.”


	76. Chapter 76

**Richmond, Virginia**

**7:00am**

Castiel didn’t feel anything as he and Gabriel were escorted from the ISTSM’s administration building to the airport. Perhaps it was numbness, or weariness, or he had exhausted his bank of emotions for the month...or, he knew, he felt too much and simply couldn’t process it all. Not that it was a huge surprise, really. He knew Dean was upset with him long before this, considering how the teenager had acted towards him back in late March, but it was the unexpected depth of the hostility that had shocked him to the core.

Gabriel was shocked too; perhaps even more so. He’d had no idea Dean harbored any ill-will towards Castiel at all. He wanted to ask about it as they drove to the airport, but Cas wasn’t ready, if the expression on his face was any judge of things. The man was clearly still wondering how the older boy had ended up telling him to go fuck himself with no apparent provocation.

So they rode in silence for a while, until Castiel suddenly decided to open up.

“Gabe...it’s a good thing the deeds went to you. I can’t even fathom what would be happening right now if they had gone to me. Dean would’ve refused to leave.”

“Sure seems like it. While you were talking to him, Bobby whispered to me that Dean thinks you turned John in. Did you know that?”

Castiel turned and stared at Gabe for a moment. “No. I knew he was upset that I didn’t defend John after he was arrested, but...what the hell gave him the idea I turned him in?”

“I think it’s pretty clear that Bobby Singer brainwashed him. Probably got to Sam, too.”

Castiel thought about what he had heard behind the door a few minutes ago: Bobby telling Dean he should be grateful to Castiel for trying to save them. Trying to make him apologize. The man definitely didn’t do this.

“It wasn’t Bobby. Had to be something he heard on the news. Remember Meg dropped that alleged report that I was behind all this back in March? Dean might have caught wind of it.”

“Oh...shit. Well, you can easily disprove that now. Show Dean all the lawsuits for slander she’s been hit with in the last few years. Can’t believe it took that long for her to lose her license.”

“Hmm. Yes. Just so you know, I’ve asked Bobby Singer to move to Los Angeles and work for us. He turned it down right away, but I know he’ll change his mind in a few weeks. We need to start thinking of a position for him.”

Gabriel’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say you _asked Bobby Singer to move to Los Angeles to work for us_. Come again?”

Castiel nodded, but he didn’t look at Gabe. His thoughts were far away, on another planet almost. “I can’t tell you why, but he knows.”

“I can’t accept that, Cas,” Gabriel said sternly.

“You’ll have to, I’m afraid. I’ll explain when I can. It might be a while. First things first. I was planning to tell the boys about John, but looks like you agreed to be the messenger for that. What are you going to say?”

Gabriel rapped on the privacy glass in the car, and it rolled down a few inches. “Devereaux. Have the driver pull up at the Waffle House off the next exit. You guys can go get a bite and leave us alone in the car for a bit.”

“Yes, sir. Call me when you want us back in.”

“I will.”

The glass rolled back up as they pulled into the restaurant. Once the men had left the car, Gabriel turned back around to glare at Castiel.

“Okay, Cas. We need to have a serious come-to-Jesus. Look, I didn’t say anything when you suddenly foisted the boys upon me as servants, even though I already have three kids. Now I’m going to have five, and four dogs. I wrote that $600,000 check without blinking-”

“I’m paying you back when we get to the airport.”

“-after I barely whimpered when you met secretly with Lucifer without informing me. I fought with my wife over this, for you and those boys. And yes, I’ll take the last-second responsibility of telling them about John even though I’m not prepared, because you never bothered to tell me Dean was pissed at you. What I won’t do is sit back and let you treat me like I’m some kind of untrustworthy blabbermouth. I’m flying home in an hour with two traumatized teenagers who think their Uncle Cas just had their dad executed by their own government, while you get to disappear off the radar for a week and let me and my family deal with the nuclear fallout that these poor boys are about to experience. Do you realize what a massive PR nightmare this is all going to be? And you want Bobby Singer there now, too, whom Dean _also_ hates? I deserve to know what’s going on, and you have no longer have any right to keep it from me. So start talking.”

Castiel’s expression never changed during this tirade, which only made it worse for Gabriel.

“No,” Cas answered calmly, folding his hands in his lap and cocking his head slightly at his right hand man.

Gabriel was appalled. “No? Did you just say...no?”

“Correct. But perhaps what I should’ve said is _not right now._ Maybe you’ll figure it out on your own, if you calm down and think hard enough about what’s going on and why I would do all these things. Take your time, we don’t have to be at the airport for a while.”

“I don’t understand you. I don’t understand any of this. Jesus Christ. All this subterfuge. You’re John, reincarnated.” Gabriel shook his head and fell silent, wondering if his anger could possibly set the car on fire in its intensity. He refused to think about the situation at first, preferring to silently fume and think about how to write his resignation letter. He had just composed it all inside his head when the unexpected occurred.

“Holy shit.” He sat straight up in his seat. “Bobby is cooperating with the FBI. You knew he was going to turn against Uriel. You said so months ago.”

“Hmm. I do recall saying that, come to think of it.” There was a slight sparkle in his eye now, and he totally unconscious of it, but Gabriel knew that look like he knew two plus two equals four.

“Is it really necessary to ask him to come to Los Angeles?”

“Silly question. Come on, Gabe, you’re smarter than that.”

Because Bobby would never be able to find a job again in Opportunists territory after this, Gabriel realized. He pulled his mind away from the topic for a moment and studied their driver and Devereaux through the windows of the Waffle House; they appeared to have just received their bill. Gabriel picked up his phone and quickly dialed Castiel’s guard.

“Come to the car, please. Just you, only for a moment, thanks.”

Castiel looked sideways at him. “What are you doing?”

Gabriel dug out his wallet. “Paying their bill, of course. Want anything to go?” He took out two twenty dollar bills and handed them to Devereaux, asked him to grab them some food, then turned and smiled sadly at Castiel when they were alone again.

“Alright, so I get it. You know what? You’ve learned a lot from John about strategy. I’m impressed. But I’m also worried as shit, you must know that.”

“Of course. I have no intention of getting myself executed, though.”

“Well, it’s a pretty strange state of affairs when I can say something like that is the best news I’ve heard all day. Thank you.”

Castiel chuckled a little. “I wonder what John would think of us right now if he could hear us. Probably shaking his head and muttering _amateurs._ He would have solved this whole crisis months ago under different circumstances, without breaking a sweat.”

Gabriel looked at him in disbelief. “You think too highly of him, Cas. Always have. I loved him too, but _solved_ this? Really? No, he _caused_ this. Don’t forget that.”

Castiel was quiet again, and Gabriel broke the silence a minute later. “So, when I tell the boys...I think Dean won’t want you there at all. Or maybe there, just not saying anything.”

“I don’t know. Ask him. We should go.”

Gabriel picked up his phone again, but paused halfway through dialing Devereaux’s number. “So, one more question. While I’m going back to L.A., you’re heading to Philadelphia. Are you getting arrested, or not? Tell me honestly.”

“That’s up to the president. You already know I breached the confidentiality agreement. Technically, they can charge me with conspiracy. But I don’t think they will.”

“You don’t think? That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Cas shrugged, so Gabriel went back to his phone and finished dialing the number.

\------------------

Bobby looked back at Dean again through the rearview mirror. Sam was now sound asleep on his brother’s shoulder, mouth open and breathing heavily. Dean was wide awake, and he looked right back at Bobby.

“About five minutes away, Dean. You okay?”

Dean ignored him and turned to stare out the window.

“I can tell you on the plane why I kept that secret, if you’re willing to listen,” Bobby said quietly, although he doubted he could wake Sam even if he shouted it at the top of his lungs.

Nothing from Dean. Bobby sighed and looked up to watch a large cargo jet coming down the glideslope just overhead. It seemed like the landing gear could have thumped the top of the car if the pilot had dipped down just a few feet lower. Less than two minutes later they pulled into the private hangar, and the driver got out and shut the door. Bobby turned all the way around in his seat.

“Dean. Lucifer was supposed to get your deeds. Your dad insisted that I get them instead so I could turn them over to Castiel after a year, because he was convinced Lucifer would be in jail by now.”

“Is he?”

“No. Why you’re going to Gabriel instead, five months early, I don’t know, but I have an idea and you should be damned grateful about it.”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t care. Doesn’t explain why you kept it a secret.”

“Your dad insisted on it. He thought you wouldn’t trust me if you knew. He was right, of course, as you’ve just proven. He knew you too well to risk it.”

Dean shrugged again. “Like I said, I don’t care. Wait...what do you mean, _knew_ me?”

“What?”

“ _Knew me_. Past tense. Why did you say it like that?” Dean’s voice was suddenly pitched an octave higher, and when Bobby didn’t immediately respond, he grabbed the door handle and bolted out of the car towards the plane.

Bobby followed in a panic, but he was too late, and he arrived to all kinds of yelling inside the cabin. He poked his head around the bulkhead and saw that Castiel had his hands out in a defensive gesture, while Gabriel was holding Dean’s arms in a bear hug from behind.

“Calm down, Dean. Hey, calm down,” Gabriel said soothingly, over and over.

Castiel glared at Bobby. “What the hell did you say to him?”

“Where’s my dad, you traitorous fuck?” Dean nearly spit at Castiel.

Castiel didn’t look at him. “Mr. Singer, go get Sam, please. Bring him up so we can talk.” Then he gestured to his guards and the stunned pilots. “All of you need to leave, please. Right now. We’ve got this.”

Bobby went back to the car with a sickly-pounding heart and woke up Sam. “Hey, kiddo. Up and at ‘em. You’ve got to get on the plane to help calm your brother. Come on.”

“What? Is he having a panic attack?”

“Not yet, but sure looks like he’s on the way. Come on and let’s try to help him out of it.”

Too late. Dean was already lying on the floor, heaving in fruitless deep breaths, eyes wild. Sam went immediately to his side and pushed his hood back and out of his face.

“Do we need to call medics?” asked Gabriel quickly. He was scared, not having seen Dean before in this state, although he’d heard about it.

“No,” Castiel responded, going down on a knee on the side of Dean opposite Sam and putting a hand on the boy’s chest. “He’ll be okay. You remember how to breathe, Dean. Come on, start counting.”

“Get off me,” Dean growled, and Castiel stood back up quickly.

Sam looked around the cabin. “Can you guys leave us alone, please? I’ve got this. He just needs some breathing room.”

They didn’t move, then Sam asked again, not as politely, but more pleadingly.

“Come on,” Castiel finally said to his little entourage. “Off the plane. Let’s go.”

\---------------

“You okay now?” Sam asked some time later, when it was obvious Dean was perfectly fine. Physically, anyway.

“Yeah. Thanks for your help, Sammy.” Dean started to sit up, then laid back down again. “Can you go get Bobby?”

Sam stood up and did as asked; Dean was upright and in a chair by the time they returned, looking grim.

“Can you sit, please?” Dean asked Bobby, very politely. 

“Of course. You look a hell of a lot better than you did twenty minutes ago. Thank god.”

“I understand now why you didn’t tell us about the deeds. I’m sorry I freaked out on you.”

“You are literally the last person in the universe who needs to apologize for anything, Dean.”

Dean took a bottle of water from the little table off to the side, and drank a few gulps. “Please tell us what happened to our dad. Sammy, sit down.”

Bobby’s heart lurched a little. “Yeah, you’d better sit. Thanks. I’m sorry, boys. Your dad is...he passed away in April. While he was in jail.”

Sam stopped breathing for a few moments, then whined a little, but Dean had no visible reaction. “How long have you known?”

“I just found out yesterday.” Bobby’s voice broke, and he started to tear up. “That’s why Castiel and Gabriel came to get you. They also found out yesterday, by the way.”

Dean gestured to Sam, who got up and sat in his lap, looking stunned and red-faced. Dean put his arms around his little brother protectively and held on tightly.

“Did he get sick?” Dean queried, his voice a bit muffled through Sam’s mop of hair.

“Not sick. You remember he had a heart attack about six years ago?”

“Of course.”

“That was a minor one. He had another one and this time, a big one, he couldn’t be saved. Everybody tried, but...they really tried. They couldn’t save him. I’m told he felt no pain at all and wasn’t even aware of it. Happened in his sleep. He was...you may not believe it now, but it probably was for the best, because he was going to be in jail for a long time. And he would have been so desperately unhappy there.”

”So he was found guilty.”

”He admitted to his guilt, actually. So...do you understand what I mean by this maybe being for the best?”

Dean nodded again, and went white as a sheet when Sam wailed a little.

“Thank you. Can you leave us alone, please?”

Bobby got up, squeezed Dean’s shoulder, then patted Sam on the head and left the plane. Castiel and Gabriel were waiting expectantly, shivering at the foot of the stairs.

“Both of you, in the car,” Bobby ordered sternly. “We need to talk.”

\-----------------------------------

“You okay, Sammy?”

Sam nodded. He was in shock, and quiet as a mouse for the past few minutes. “You always said he’d work himself to death, Dean. Guess you were right.”

“Yeah.” Dean was in shock, too. He hugged his brother a little tighter. “I feel like...I think I’m going to throw up?”

“Me, too.”

Neither one of them did, though. They just held each other tightly, willing tears to come that stubbornly refused to emerge for now...the eye before the storm, as it were.

\-------------------

Castiel burst out of the car, in total disbelief of what Bobby had just done. It would be many hours before he realized it was the right thing, but right now? Nothing but fury. He turned around as Gabriel got out of the car and slowly approached him.

“Calm down, Cas.”

“You can’t _possibly_ agree with this bullshit?” Castiel hissed.

“Keep your voice down.”

“He actually had the nerve to blackmail me, and you’re okay with it.”

Gabriel pulled his coat tighter around him and zipped it up. The day seemed to be getting colder as the sun rose, not warmer. “Not blackmail, Cas. A bargain.”

“He said...he said he’d refuse to corroborate my testimony if I don’t go along with this! It’s unconscionable! Oh my god, you do agree with him. I can’t believe it.”

Gabe nodded. “Yeah, I do. I mean, I definitely thought he was completely insane at first, but if you think about it...what do the boys gain from knowing the truth? Nobody knows but us, and Lucifer and literally all of three people in the government. I don’t know if you remember, but John’s death certificate does say heart attack.”

Castiel was nearly in a rage, his trenchcoat blowing around in the wind like dancing flames on the tarmac. “How the _hell_ am I going to explain this to Bela and President Henriksen?”

“You don’t. They have no intention of ever letting the boys know the truth anyway. Why do you think there’s no written record of anything that happened, hm? Especially if it’s discovered that Uriel was the one who caused all this. Can you imagine how much that would damage them, and not to mention, Dean and Sam?”

“I can’t lie to them. I won’t.”

“You don’t have to. Bobby already did it for us.”

“Did you put him up to this?” Castiel asked accusingly.

“No! Are you fucking kidding me?” Gabriel responded hotly, completely astonished. “How and when would I have possibly done that? I can’t believe you would even say such a thing.”

Castiel shook his head, then surrendered. “Fine. I’m going to say goodbye to them, then I’m heading up to Philadelphia. We’ll talk when I get back to Los Angeles. Don’t even think of trying to contact me before that, and consider yourself lucky that I’m not firing you right here and now.”

Castiel stalked away and climbed the stairs to the plane, forcing himself to slow his breathing and his pace. It would do no good whatsoever to show the boys his current state of mind.

Dean didn’t look up as he came in, but Sam and the dogs did. Starsky was curled up in Sam’s lap, while Hutch was shoved in next to Dean on his seat, half-hanging over the side, tail wagging wildly as his human absently scratched his neck.

Castiel kept a respectful distance, again, while keeping his tone gentle and reassuring. “Dean. I just learned that you think I turned your dad in. My guess is you heard that on the news, or read something Meg wrote. That explains why you’re so upset with me. If it were true, I wouldn’t blame you a bit. But it’s not. We’ll talk when I get back to Los Angeles on Saturday. My deepest condolences for the loss of your father. He was my best friend, and I swore to him that I would protect you and Sam for the rest of your lives if something happened to him.”

Now Dean spoke up, but his tone was hard. “So why does Gabriel own our deeds, then?”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, and then took a step closer. “Because I’m not ready to be a father to you boys. I work too much, sleep too much, don’t understand teenagers...there’s a whole list of reasons why Gabriel and Amelia were a much better choice. John would have agreed, by the way. But my mission to protect you doesn’t change because of that. I’m going to Philadelphia now for a few days, and the only thing I’ll be working on is trying to cancel your servitude and free you completely. I’m dedicated to doing that at any cost, if it’s possible.”

Sam sat up, deeply interested now. “Is it possible?”

“I hope so, Sam. I really do. It’s going to take a long time to work out, maybe months. In the meantime, you’re going home with Gabriel and the dogs to rest for a while, and then...well, we’ll see. Be really nice to him, and be good. He loves you. So do I, by the way.”

“Thank you, Uncle Cas,” said Sam. Castiel felt his heart glow a little, but it was tamped down again when he glanced at Dean, who was still glowering and obviously felt no such gratitude for his father’s best friend.

“See you soon, boys.”

Castiel left the plane and looked around for Gabriel, who had gotten back in the car to get out of the cold. He beckoned him out with his finger. Gabriel got back out, and stood in front of his boss, looking sullen and hurt.

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t call me that. Sorry I went off on you. I don’t want to fire you. I just...this is a nightmare. Safe travels home. Oh, wait! The check.”

Castiel went to the trunk and opened his briefcase, and then wrote the check for $600,000 and quickly handed it over.

“Thanks, Cas. I was thinking that perhaps you should tell Bela that you didn’t tell the boys about the execution, of course. They’ll be grateful to hear it, and that might help you.”

“Well, I need all the help I can get, so that’s good advice. I still don’t agree with it, though.”

“You don’t have to. Just accept it. Remember the boys gain nothing by the truth on this one.”

“They don’t gain anything, no, but I feel like we’ve lost our souls by doing it.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe we have. I’m fine with it, for one. I suppose this means you're going to retract that job offer to Bobby?"

"Obviously."

"Of course. Well. Good luck in Philadelphia.”

Gabe opened the door and Castiel got back in his own car; thankfully his driver had waited in order to prevent him and Bobby from having to ride together. That would have been a veritable bloodbath.

As they both were driven away, Gabriel heard a few barks emerging from the plane, followed by a loud thump and some stifled laughter. He smiled to himself, then walked into the hangar office where the flight crew was waiting.

“I think we’re good to go, gentlemen and ladies. Sorry for the delay.”

 


	77. Chapter 77

Los Angeles - 10 days later

“No, it’s not like that,” Gabriel clarified, shifting his phone to the other ear. “Sorry, let me explain. Dean’s not defiant at all. He does everything we ask. Sometimes resentfully, but he always does it. I was referring to the way he protects his brother. I had to scold Sam for playing around with the gas stove, and Dean came running in from god knows where, hellbent on starting World War 3 about it. He acted like I was murdering Sam, when I was only trying to prevent him from blowing up the house.”

“What did you do?” Castiel asked with a huge yawn as he stretched and tried to wake up fully from having slept in so late. Again. The hotel’s bed was way too comfortable for anything else.

“I sent him back to his room to calm down, and he cussed up a shitstorm the whole way down. You should have seen me trying not to laugh. The next morning he strode into the living room and announced that I must never raise my voice again to his brother, then proceeded to make us all an amazing breakfast and was perfectly polite. Never said a word the rest of the day. He might be the death of me before the new year, Cas. I can’t figure him out. He goes from being pitifully subservient one moment to blowing up at me the next, and it’s not always about Sam. Speaking of which, the day _that_ little brat takes an order without arguing, I’ll be king of England and you’ll be my queen. Dean’s spoiling him is only making it worse. Have to admit I cringe thinking back about how upset I’d get at John whenever he took his belt to them, but now I get it.”

“No, you don’t. This behavior is new. They never acted like that at my house, or at their own as far as I know. In all the days they spent with me I only had to make them stand in the corner a handful of times for fighting, but they were really little back then. They’re such good kids otherwise. John was way too hard on them. I would even go so far as to say borderline abusive at times.”

Gabriel agreed with a harrumph. “Yeah. I wasn’t going to say it, but...anyway, Amelia swears they never did this in homeschool, either. So I thought of giving Dean a lot more to do, too, since he seems to like being busy. I might put him on a much tighter schedule. Give him some goals and rewards. That would give him less time to think up new reasons to be mad at me.”

“That sounds like a good plan. Have you tried talking to him about John?”

“ _Tried_ being the operative word. Yes. Twice. There won’t be a third time. Learned my lesson. He was very grateful to us for letting Sam sleep upstairs, though, and that’s helped a lot.“

“Be careful with that.”

“We are. Listen, I wanted to ask you about one more thing. I know it’s a delicate subject but ignoring it isn’t going to help. Bobby said the plea bargain states that the boys have to go to you on April 1.”

Castiel braced himself. “I know, and I’ve been putting off mentioning it to you because I’d rather talk about it in person. Turns out that particular agreement was in writing after all. I saw it with my own eyes on Friday.”

“Oh, shit. So we waited all that time for nothing. Doing nothing. I’m so sorry, Cas.”

“Not your fault. Besides, neither of us knew Bobby Singer held the deeds, remember? I already asked Bela to override it, but the president said no. It’s binding, John made sure of it. He couldn’t have foreseen Dean’s objection to me. I’m appealing anyway, but it will fail and on April 1 they’re mine for 19 years. I’m sorry, Gabe.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure whether to be happy or sad about this news. “Okay, well...then we have about five months to change Dean’s mind about you.”

“I’ll be home Wednesday night, I think. On Saturday I’ll tell him. No use keeping it from him and making him distrust me even more. That way he has those five months to come to terms with it.”

“I think I should tell him.”

“Why?”

“I just do. I’d rather him be mad at me about it than you.”

“You have to live with him. Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Trust me, Cas, please. I understand teenage boys about a million times better than you do at the moment. Let me tell him.”

“When?”

“Now. He’s out mowing the lawn. When he’s done, I’ll tell him we just got off the phone and that was the decision, and hope it instills a little trust that I’m keeping him updated every step of the way.”

“Alright. If you’re sure. Good luck.”  
—-  
Gabriel didn’t wait until Dean was finished; instead he walked outside immediately after hanging up the phone and signaled him with a big wave to turn off the machine. Dean set it to “quiet idle” instead, since it was a pain in the ass to restart, and waited for Gabriel to reach him.

“Hey, Dean. I just got off the phone with Castiel. We need to talk. Or I need to tell you something, rather. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Will you come with me to the pool house, please?”

Dean set the mower into an upright position and turned it completely off. “Funny how you act like I have a choice,” he replied calmly, and started to walk towards the pool house.

Gabriel froze in his tracks, his heart racing a little. Practically every encounter with one of the Winchester sons was making a new grey hair sprout on his head, and it was wearing him out. They were so much like their father, although each in different ways.

“Dean, come back here,” he called in his normal tone.

Dean stopped, a little confused, and walked back to Gabriel with a quizzical expression.

“Let’s try that again. Dean, I have some news I’d like to tell you. Will you come to the pool house with me, please?”

Dean said nothing, just stared at him blankly and crossed his arms. 

“Okay,” Gabriel said after waiting a few long moments in vain. “You’ve been here ten days, and I’ve never ordered you to do anything once. I always ask. Always. Why are you suddenly treating me like some kind of evil dictator?”

“Because you keep framing your orders as a question in order to pretend I still have free will. But we both know I don’t, so you acting like you’re giving me a choice is just pissing me off.”

Gabriel swallowed hard. “I see. Thank you for being honest and giving us the chance to improve our communication. Go to the pool house, Dean.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.”  
——  
Dean took the news completely stone-faced, which Gabriel was actually thankful for since it was far better than almost any alternative.

“So...does this mean he can’t free us?”

“I didn’t say that. This is the contingency plan in case he can’t. He’s coming back to Los Angeles on Wednesday and will want to talk to you and Sam about the situation on Saturday.”

“If he does free us, what then? We’re still minors. Who will we live with? Will we have a choice?” Dean’s eyes were moist, and Gabriel’s eyes watered a little in response.

“Honestly, I haven’t even thought about it. You’ll have to ask Castiel. One thing I do know is that my family is your family now, and if you have a choice, you can choose us.”

“I don’t want to choose! I just want my dad back.”

That marked the immediate end of Gabriel’s fortitude; he started to cry silently and couldn’t say anything more. Dean watched him for a little while and felt his own heart seize up in response. Eventually he spoke up again.

“Sir...may I go now?”

Gabriel wiped his eyes, taking a few moments to gather all his strength to get his shit back together before making a reply.

“In a minute. Dean, you and I haven’t talked about Castiel at all. I promised I wouldn’t make you talk to him, and I won’t. But whatever I have to do to convince you he wasn’t behind your dad’s downfall, I will do it. I’ll get the damned president on the phone if I have to. Just tell me what you need to help you get past this.”

Dean looked up, his eyes dry again. “I want to talk to Meg Masters.”

Gabriel was startled into near speechlessness. “Meg? Dean, for god’s sake. She’s the one who caused this whole mess. No. Out of the question.”

“You just said you’d do whatever I wanted. Do you have her number?”

“Yes, but....no, Dean. Absolutely not. Don’t ask me again. And while we’re at it, I’m going to give you another order. Don’t call me sir again. I’m Gabriel. I’ll tell Sam as well.”

“Yes, sir. Gabriel, I mean. I want to talk to Meg. Right now.”

“No. Go finish the mowing, and don’t ask me again.”

“No.”

“No..?”

“I’m going to my room,” Dean declared firmly as he got up from the chaise lounge.

So much for that lack of defiance Gabe mentioned to Cas. He stood up now, too, and he was pissed. “Dean, if you were one of my sons I’d already be getting the paddle out. Stop taking advantage of my promise not to, and do what I say. Outside. Now.”

“Or else what?”

“That’s not fair. You know I’m not going to do a damned thing, that’s what. This situation is so fucked up, I’m the bad guy no matter what I do. Even when I’m trying to help you...it just...I can’t understand.” Gabriel threw up his hands in surrender. “Do what you want, Dean. But you’re not talking to Meg, ever, and that’s final. It’s for your own good.”

Gabriel left the pool house feeling like he was going to have a stroke from all the stress. He went to his master suite on the third floor and ran himself a painfully hot bath, hoping that Amelia and the kids stayed out on their shopping trip for another hour or so.

When he heard them returning about 50 minutes later he pulled himself out of the bath - and out of his daydreams of being back in Maui with Cas and John - and hurried downstairs to see what help Chef needed with dinner, since he was certain Dean wouldn’t be showing up again.

He was surprised to find Dean in the kitchen, quietly slicing potatoes and keeping a watchful eye on Sam’s clumsy efforts to get all the right pots and pans heated up. Chef made his way over to Gabriel.

“How are they doing, Chef?”

“Dean might steal my job someday soon. Sam, not so much, since he doesn’t try half as hard.”

“That’s alright, he’s young. What are you guys making tonight?”

“Dean asked to make beef wellington and cheddar potatoes au gratin. Is that okay?”

“Of course. You know that’s my favorite meal. It was his idea?”

“Yes, he even had the nerve to insist on it.” Chef chuckled a little. “Cheeky brat.”

“Okay. That’s good. Thanks.”

Gabriel went outside to put the mower away before the rain came. But it wasn’t anywhere in sight, and all of the grass was cut.

He went into the garage instead, and sat down on a stool next to the mower and quietly “talked” to John about his boys. He might have cursed at him a little, too, for the hundredth time.  

———

The days steadily improved as Gabriel adjusted his style to try to keep Dean happy. He gave the teenager a busier schedule, clear choices when he could, and clear orders when he couldn’t. Even Sam was better and had started doing his chores without complaining. Most of the time, anyway.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t some tough issues to handle. Dean had asked about Meg twice more, and Gabriel had calmly refused to discuss it. Each time, Dean retreated into himself entirely, refusing to work until he snapped out of it many hours later. On one occasion, almost a full day. Gabriel let him get away with it, much to Amelia’s dismay. She felt Dean needed a firmer hand and that her husband was coddling the teenager, and she was right. But Gabriel was tired of fighting with him.

He was also dreading the day that Castiel would finally request to speak to the boys. He had been stuck in Philadelphia for another week, so there was no opportunity to try and get an in-person meeting together. Gabriel knew he was dreading it more than anyone else; possibly including Dean himself.

—

One Sunday, between breakfast and lunch, the house phone rang and Dean picked it up automatically as he was walking from the dining room into the kitchen.

“Angel residence…....hello?”

“Um. Hello Dean, this is Castiel. I need to speak to Gabriel, but he’s not answering his cell.”

Dean turned and eyed the cell phone that Gabriel had uncharacteristically left lying out on the side table by the front door when he came home from church. It must be completely dead, Dean figured.

“I’ll go get him. Please hold.”

“Thank-“

Dean set the receiver down on the counter, then went to retrieve the cell phone so he could return it to Gabriel for charging. He was surprised to see it wasn’t dead, just on silent. He looked around furtively; no one was watching. So he slipped it into his pocket, then ran upstairs to find Gabriel.  
———  
Dean had sent Sammy upstairs to play with the dogs, then locked himself in the basement bathroom, where he now sat on the closed toilet. His hand, which held Gabriel’s phone, was shaking violently. He had guessed the unlock code on the first try (the Angels’ anniversary date, 12/31...so 1231). Now he just had to scroll through the contacts to find Meg’s number, and he hadn’t yet found the courage to do it.

But when he finally did...there it was. Meg Masters. Two phone numbers. Dean called the first one; it was a disconnected line. He waited a minute to try the second one, feeling like he was going to vomit.

This one rang. And rang. And rang.

No answer after fifty rings.

Dean scrolled back up and felt his heart stop again at the sight of Lucifer’s name. Without thinking, he hit “dial” and held his breath.

“Hello, Gabriel. Thought we had an agreement not to call each other. Like, ever?”

Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He started to breathe fast. Too fast. Shit.

“Gabriel?”

Dean hung up and scrambled off the toilet. The phone lit up brightly, the screen showing “Incoming: Home.” He quickly realized that Gabriel was calling his own cell in an effort to find it within the house, and a few seconds after that call went to missed, the screen lit up again.

Incoming: Meg Masters

In a panic Dean hit the button to send the call to voicemail, cleared the call logs, and fled the bathroom to go back upstairs to replace the phone before Gabriel could discover what was up.

Then the worst case scenario happened. Gabriel was already in the living room, looking around in confusion, and he happened to turn just as Dean came creeping through the door. Dean froze as Gabriel’s eyes traveled down to his hand and widened in stunned comprehension.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said quickly, shakily, and he hurried over and handed him the phone. Unfortunately, Meg Masters was calling back again.

“Interesting. Meg is calling me. Did you talk to her?”

“N-no. I dialed her, b-but I chickened out.”

“Wait for me in my office,” Gabriel ordered sharply, then he picked up the call. “Hello, Meg. Yeah, sorry, butt dial.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean mouthed before he turned away, petrified at Gabriel’s livid expression.

He slipped into Gabriel’s office, barely able to breathe. How stupid he had been! He couldn’t believe himself. The man would have every right to say what he wanted now, or do what he wanted, and Dean wouldn’t even be mad. He deserved whatever was coming next, he knew without a doubt.

Gabriel slipped into the office about fifteen seconds behind him, shutting the door quietly, but Dean jumped at the clicking lock as if a gunshot had rang out.

“You called Lucifer too, huh? Why?”

“I don’t know. I chickened out with him also.”

Gabriel looked like he was going to slam the phone down on the table, but he collected himself just in time and laid it gently onto his big desk calendar.

“This is completely unacceptable, Dean. It crosses a line I never thought you’d even consider, or be capable of.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What do you think I should do about it?”

Gabriel’s face was like the worst thunderstorm imaginable, and Dean shivered. He was suddenly ice cold.

“I think...I think you should...” He swallowed hard and composed himself, then felt his own anger building up quickly. “Whatever you do, it doesn’t matter. I memorized Meg’s number, and I will call her when I have a chance, unless you chop off my hands and make it impossible. Then I’ll just ask Sammy to call her. Either way I’m getting an answer from her, whether you like it or not.”

Gabriel looked about to implode, but instead he took a few deep breaths and then sat down to think. Dean watched him mull over the situation for a while, and was surprised when Gabriel pulled his desk phone over to him, and calmly asked Dean to sit down.

“Are you...are you calling her?”

“Yes. Afterwards, we’ll discuss your punishment.” Gabriel punched the numbers quickly, and Meg picked up on the first ring. Dean’s heart nearly stopped when he heard the voice. That same voice that had so confidently accused Castiel of the ultimate treason.

“Is this a joke?” she responded without saying hello.

“No. This time, I really need to talk to you. I want you to tell me what proof you had in regards to your claim that Castiel turned in John Winchester. The story that you ran back on March...I guess around March 20.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself. Lose my number, asshole.”

She hung up, and Gabriel raised an eyebrow at Dean.

“That’s Meg for you. See why I didn’t want you to call her?”

Dean nodded. He was green. “Call her back. I’ll talk to her directly.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean nodded again. Now he was white. “Do it. Please.”

Gabriel dialed back with a suppressed sigh.

“What the fuck, Angel? You suddenly got the hots for me, or what?”

Dean swallowed hard and closed his eyes.  “Ms. Masters? This is Dean Winchester.”

There was silence, and it appeared Meg had hung up. But then Dean heard a car horn honking in the background, so he gathered his courage again.

“Ms. Masters, do you remember me from that day? When you gave me so much encouragement about my driving test?”

“Yeah. Yes, I do.”

“Well, I never got to thank you. I passed it, you know, because you gave me the confidence to go through with it. So, thank you.”

“Um. You’re welcome? That’s what you called me about?”

“No ma’am. I know you’ve heard the reports that I’m living with Gabriel as his servant.” Dean’s voice was hoarse. “I’ve been pissed off at Castiel for months because I thought he turned my dad in. Because of your report, I mean. Now I’m being told he didn’t, and it’s making me a basket case. I just...I just want to know the truth. He used to be like a second father to me. I’m not mad at you or anything. Can you tell me if that report was true? Just a yes or no, and I’ll never bother you again.”

Silence. Gabriel wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Dean had broken his heart so many times, it was a wonder it could still beat on its own.

“Ms. Masters?” Dean said eventually. “You still there?”

“Yes. Didn’t you get to read the FBI statement? Your dad allegedly turned himself in.”

“I did read it.” Dean hated that his voice was shaking a little. “But I don’t trust the FBI.  And Castiel didn’t defend him at all. So I thought they were lying.”

“Yeah, we all did, honey. We still do. Everyone who reported this story lost their journalism license, including me, because we were supposedly all wrong about Castiel. There was no proof. But he did it, you just gotta connect the dots and it all comes together clear as day. Gabriel knows this already. Hell, everyone knows. You _should_ be pissed at Castiel. I would be if I were you.”

Dean looked at Gabriel, stricken, then back at the phone. “Okay. I just wanted to hear it from you directly. You were so nice to me that day, and I guess I knew you wouldn’t lie to me. Thank you for your time.”

He reached over and hung up the phone, then sat back and glared at Gabriel. “You should have let me call her way back when I first asked! Why didn’t you?”

“Because she’s a pathological liar, Dean! The only honest thing I’ve ever heard her say in ten years was the part where she told you there was no proof that Castiel turned John in.”

“Yeah, I got that. I’m not a little kid, I know when someone’s lying. You should have let me call her earlier. That was fucked up, man.”

Gabriel was confused now, and it took him a while to grasp what Dean was saying.

“Wait, so...you _didn’t_ believe her just now?”

“No, of course not. For one thing, I started by asking her if she remembered encouraging me to take my driving test. She said yes, but that never happened. Jesus, how gullible do you think I am?”

“I never said you were gullible, Dean. Mind your tone, please.”

Dean hufffed. “ _Everyone_ lies to me. Everyone. The only person who has ever told me the truth all the time is my dad. I’ve become an expert bullshit detector in the past 8 months.”

Gabriel held his tongue with effort; he knew full well John had been dishonest with his sons on many occasions. Mostly to protect them, but also to prevent fights.

“I haven’t lied to you, Dean.”

Dean smiled without humor. “Yes, you have. You and Castiel have known dad was dead for months. Know how I know? The night we arrived, your wife gave me her condolences, and said it had been a hard secret for you to hold in for so long. That you’d been working so hard to honor his legacy.”

 _Oh_ , _fuck_....

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Gabriel said quietly. “I can’t defend that.”

“No, you can’t. And neither can Castiel. So when you wonder why I have trust issues-”

“No, you’re wrong about Cas,” Gabriel said quickly. “He never told you that. Bobby and I did, without his knowledge. He nearly fired me over it, and he’s still super pissed off at me. Ask him directly, he’ll tell you the truth.”

“Why did _you_ lie, then?”

Gabriel sighed, feeling completely foolish. “Ironically enough, it was to gain your trust.”

“Nice job. Call Castiel, please. I’ll ask him. If he lies to me, I’m done with both of you forever.”

Gabriel held his breath as he dialed and hit the speakerphone function.

“Not a good time, Gabriel,” Castiel answered tersely.

“Uh, make it a good time. I’ve got Dean here with a question.”

“How long have you known my dad was dead?” Dean blurted impatiently.

They heard Castiel excusing himself and a female voice answered; apparently he was in a meeting with Bela.

“Dean?”

“Yes. Answer the question, please.”

“I found out on...June 15.”

“How long has Gabriel known?”

There was a pause. “The same day. He was in Philadelphia with me when the FBI broke the news, and I told him when I got back to the hotel.”

“And Bobby? When did he find out?”

Now there was an even longer pause.

“Tell him, Cas,” Gabriel said quietly.

“Yes, trying to. I’m thinking. I honestly don’t know if it was on April 1 or April 2. But one of those days. I’m sorry, Dean. They shouldn’t have lied to you. I don’t support it, and I’m still really angry. It’s one of the many things I wanted to tell you when we see each other again.”

Then Dean steeled himself and proposed the question Gabriel was most afraid of, the one that could spin the poor kid into a nervous breakdown he might never recover from.

“Alright. So...I’m guessing he didn’t die of a heart attack, either.”

“Gabe, take Dean over the house right now and give him John’s death certificate. The real one, not the photocopy. The combination to his safe is 120949.”

Gabriel snatched up a pen. “Wait, say that again, sorry.”

“120949.”

“Okay, we’ll head over. Any other questions, Dean?”

“No. Wait, yes. Have you figured out if you can free us, yet?”

“Not yet. I’m in a meeting right now to discuss getting your dad’s conviction overturned as a first step, but we haven’t progressed very far. The fact that he pled guilty is causing huge issues that frankly, I’m not sure we will be able to overcome.”

Dean looked hopeful, regardless of that glumly doubtful answer. “Okay...well, good luck.”

“Thanks, Dean. I understand Gabriel has told you the other news, about April 1.”

“Yes.”

“I know you’re not happy about it, not that he even needed to tell me. I’m still trying to get that overturned as well so that you can stay with him. We’ll talk soon.”

“Okay. Thank you. Bye.”

Dean looked at Gabriel as he hung up the phone, his expression stricken again. “I don’t want to go to the house.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll go get the thing and bring it back for you, okay?”

“No. I want to see it come out of the safe for myself.”

Clearly Dean’s distrust of Gabriel had grown exponentially in the past few minutes, not that he could blame him.

“Well, the safe is bolted into the wall. You either come with me, or I bring the papers to you, no other choice.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”  
———  
Dean completely fell apart as they pulled into the driveway, as Gabriel feared he might. Toby, the current guard on duty, ran into the house and came out with Kleenex and a bottle of apple juice. Dean went through an entire box of tissues and was just starting on a second one when the sky suddenly broke open and started drenching landscape. Gabriel was glad for the roofed porte cochere that extended over the driveway and covered the car.

“Thanks, Toby. Help me get him inside.”

“No, I’m fine,” Dean insisted as he sniffled. “Please, let’s just get this over with. Hi, Toby. It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too, Dean-o. Been a long time.” Toby was red-eyed, too.

Dean got out of the car and asked to open the safe himself. He didn’t need to look at the paper as he punched in the number and swung the door wide open.

“I don’t know where it is,” he mumbled.

“I don’t either.”

Dean pulled out a few large envelopes, reading the titles and then carefully setting them down on the desk as he reached in for more. He took out a powder blue one, about half the size of the others, and froze at what it said on the front.

“This is it,” he said, sounding a little strangled. He didn’t hesitate to break the seal and pull out the little certificate, but his hands were shaking. He scanned it for a while, then put it back in and replaced all the other envelopes on top of it and shut the door.

“I don’t know how to lock this back up again.”

“Want me to do it?”

“Yes, please.”

Gabriel went over and fussed with the door for a bit, not being familiar with the mechanism either. When he turned around, Dean was gone, and Gabe found him standing in the middle of the living room.

“The house looks exactly the same,” he said, sounding a little bewildered.

“Yes. Castiel wanted to make sure you boys came home to how you left it. He didn’t bring any of his own furniture or decor. Sold it all. Your rooms are as they were, too.”

“It must be so weird for him to sleep in dad’s bed.”

“He doesn’t. I doubt if he’s been on the third floor even once since you left. He sleeps in the guest bedroom, or on the couch.”

Dean turned around to look at Gabriel. “He sold everything else, though?”

“Yes. The other house, the boat, and the two SUVs. That’s how he was able to afford freeing all of John’s servants and paying the transfer fee for your deeds a couple weeks ago.” 

Dean nodded again, clearly overcome but still  
managing to stay stoic, somehow.

“Did he sell Impala?”

“No, he’d never do that. It’s in the garage. Do you want to see it?”

“No. Let’s go, please.”

They drove back to the house in dead silence, but when they were parked, Dean didn’t move.

“What’s on your mind?” Gabriel asked.

“I was just thinking. I said earlier that everyone lies to me. That my dad was the only person who never lied to me.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

Dean shrugged. “You can’t. I was wrong, anyway. Dad did lie to us. He told us he was innocent. And he died in jail after admitting he was guilty. How long was his sentence? You never told me. Don’t lie again, please.”

“His record was sealed so we honestly don’t know, Dean,” Gabriel fudged. Better him than Castiel, since he was already a lost cause in Dean’s eyes. “When they seal records like that, it’s a life sentence 99% of the time. That’s why Bobby told you his passing was a mercy.”

“The death certificate said heart attack, by the way. I’m sorry for not believing it.”

“Don’t ever apologize for any of this.”

“Trust me, I won’t. But I shouldn’t have taken your phone. What’s my punishment?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t baby me. I fucked up, I can take it.”

Gabriel shook his head slightly. “I forgive you. Don’t ever do it again, though. It would be nice if you stopped swearing so much, too.”

“Okay.” Dean reached out for the door handle and started to tug it open, but stopped again.

“Gabriel, don’t take this the wrong way. You’re my owner, so I have to treat you respectfully. But you should know that I really don’t trust or respect you anymore. I don’t want to be part of your family, and I actually wantyou totreat me like just a servant, as crazy as that sounds. So please leave me alone. If I need someone to talk to, I’ve got Sam.”

Gabriel felt his heart fall down to somewhere around his knees. “I hear you. It’s not crazy, it’s you setting your boundaries and I completely respect that. Let me be blunt for a moment, too: as long as you behave in a civil manner, we’ll have no further problems. I can’t, and won’t, put up with all the attitude you’ve been giving me lately. I will start handing down discipline if necessary, because we can’t continue like this. It’s not healthy for you, and it’s all been a terrible influence on your brother.”

Dean paused uncomfortably. “What kind of discipline?”

”I don’t know,” Gabriel replied truthfully. “Let’s not cross that bridge before we come to it. Even better, how about we avoid that bridge altogether?”

“Fine. Then I want to keep calling you sir. I’m not comfortable with anything else.”

“If you insist.”

“Thank you. One last thing. May I please stay in the car for a minute and borrow your cell phone?”

Gabriel wanted so badly to ask who he was going to call. He feared the worst, naturally. Meg. Or Lucifer. Bobby, maybe, although his number wasn’t in the phone.

He didn’t ask, however. He wanted to trust Dean again, and had to start somewhere. Might as well be now. He took his phone from his back pocket and handed it over, then got out of the car.

———  
“Gabriel, _please_. I’m really busy. What now?”

“It’s Dean. I’m alone. Sorry to interrupt your meet-”

“Hang on.”

“Okay.”

Dean’s heart was pounding a little, and he almost hung up while waiting for Castiel to come back on the line. It seemed to take forever and a day.

“Sorry, Dean. Please continue.”

“Um, hi. I just...you said you’re trying to get the thing overturned. The April 1 thing, I mean.”

“Yes, I made a little headway on it already. It’s not as high of a priority as the other goal, to be honest, but it’s far less complex. A matter of one simple legality to overturn, rather than a few dozen.”

Dean took a deep breath and smiled a little to himself. One thing he had forgotten that he really liked about Castiel was that the man was incapable of being condescending and therefore treated everyone as intellectual equals, which always made Dean feel a lot smarter and more worldly than he really was.

“Yeah, about that. I actually wanted to ask you to, um...to stop trying.”

There was a puzzled pause on the other line. “You mean stop trying to overturn the April 1 decree?”

“Yeah. I meant that.” Dean suddenly felt ridiculously shy and awkward. “If it’s okay with you, of course, and not too much trouble.”

“If I remove it from the docket, I can’t put it back again.“

“That’s fine.”

Another pause, shorter this time. “Dean, that means you and Sam will be transferred to my custody on April 1. I know you understand that, but please confirm this is really what you want before I proceed.“

“Confirmed.“

“Okay. Consider it done. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Alright. One of us has to tell Gabriel about this. I’ll do it if you don’t feel comfortable.”

Dean couldn’t have been more grateful for that offer, and knew then he’d made the right decision. “Yeah, please tell him. He’ll understand. When are you coming back to Los Angeles?”

“I wish I knew. It could be as early as Wednesday, but probably Friday. I’m afraid Angela is going to forget who I am in the meantime.”

“She won’t. Starsky and Hutch didn’t forget me and Sam and all, and that was like seven months.”

Castiel chuckled a little, which surprised Dean slightly.

“That’s good to hear. Alright, well, I’d better get back to it. Lots of ground to cover still, and it’s getting late.”

“Okay.”

”Oh, and Dean? I don’t know what changed your mind, and won’t ask. But I’m really happy that you did, all the same.”

”Me, too. See you soon, Uncle Cas.”

————-


	78. All Good Things....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the end, my friends. It's been a hell of a journey. 9 months and 225,000+ words.
> 
> I love you all for reading and commenting. Especially NongPradu, SleepyVixen, LackingSheep...and my very first commenter and tireless cheerleader, Xaloc. I will never forget any of you xoxo

Castiel had never been more exhausted in his life as he climbed aboard his chartered jet for the flight back to Los Angeles. Three weeks of meetings in Philadelphia had steadily sapped every iota of energy he had left, which wasn’t much to start with. Now he had a bad cold and a boat load of bad news to take home with him.

He felt guilty for not having kept in touch with Gabriel at all, not even having called him for five days, but there wasn’t much he could say about the FBI’s stubborn and inexplicable reluctance to move on Gadreel and Uriel. The only good news he really had was that he was merely fined for breaking the confidentiality agreement, and it was a fairly small amount considering the offense. There was no mention of any legal trouble, and he was stunned to find that he actually could get along with the president really well; he had shown himself to be a surprisingly forgiving man.

The caveat for this forgiveness, however, was that Castiel was required to stay on as leader as the Insurrectionists for two more years in order to avoid destabilizing the nation’s political world if the Opportunists went down. He’d accepted readily, pretending to care deeply about such stability. In reality, he just knew that if he left the party now - when he was _finally_ being listened to by the president - his influence in Uriel’s investigation would plummet to exactly zero.

Gabriel would be thrilled, of course. That’s exactly why Castiel hadn’t told him yet, because he didn’t want to hear what great news it supposedly was. There were the boys to think about now; he was going to need to find ways to cut his workload dramatically in order to avoid following John’s footsteps as an absent father.

No. _Owner_. Not father.

“Sir?”

Castiel looked up from his seat, then dutifully buckled his seatbelt. “Sorry. I need a drink before we take off, please. Something strong.”

“We have Jameson Irish Whiskey onboard, and Grey Goose.”

Castiel’s brain jolted a little, the coincidence making the hair on his arms stand at attention. Both of those drinks had been John’s adult beverages of choice on the rare occasions he indulged. _Overindulged_ , rather - John never did anything halfway, and his resulting hangovers had been truly spectacular to witness.

“Actually, I’ll just take some water. Sparkling if you have it.”

Castiel pulled out his phone as she walked away to call Gabriel, but there was no answer. So he dialed John’s cell phone, which had never been disconnected for some reason, just to listen to his voicemail message again. He wasn’t sure why he did that every few days, and had been determined to stop, but he couldn’t help himself.

\-----

_“Cas. Wake up!” a deep voice urged._

_“What?”_

_“We’re crashing. Got your seatbelt on? We’re going down.”_

_“John?!  What the hell? How...HOW are you here?”_

_John shrugged. “I don’t know. But we’re gonna crash if you don’t level out.”_

_“Level out? What do you mean?” Castiel asked coolly. “Wait. I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”_

_“Yeah.” John smiled. “You got me. I was just testing you. You believed we were crashing, didn’t you? And you were actually glad. Relieved, even.”_

_Castiel gulped audibly. “So...we’re not crashing?”_

_“Nope. Disappointed?”_

_“Yes. Wait, no...I don’t know. That’s strange, isn’t it?”_

_“Hmmmm. How about if I tell you we’re not the only ones on this plane?”_

_He jerked a thumb behind him, and Castiel turned around to see Dean and Sam standing in the aisle, looking petrified._

_“You go down, they go down, Cas,” John said sternly. “You gotta level out and get some altitude. Mountains ahead. Brace yourself.”_

Castiel jerked upright with a gasp, suddenly fully awake, his neck aching from leaning up against the window for so long in the cold airplane cabin.

\----------------

Gabriel Angel was having a horrifically bad day at the office. Not only had the news of the boys being servants at his house gotten out - for which he wanted to blame Meg even though there were dozens of other people who knew - but somehow word had leaked that Uriel was under investigation. Gabe had all but flipped his lid when he found out at breakfast, scaring the boys with his rare temper (all of them, including his own) and setting his poor wife on edge yet again. To make matters worse, Castiel was completely unreachable due to his travels back home, and Bela was refusing to take his call.

In short, Gabe was ready to quit and go hide under a rock for the rest of his life. It certainly didn’t help that it was Employee Appreciation Day at the office, which provided unnecessary distraction and sucked up all the time he could have been using to field dozens upon dozens of media inquiries.

And now, just as he was making headway on a media statement, his wife was calling to let him know that Dean had disappeared. Gabriel immediately raced home in a panic.

——-

“Dean, this is it. This is the last straw. I told you there was going to be discipline from now on, so here we are.” Gabriel’s voice was at normal volume, but he was pissed and there was a significantly dangerous edge to it.

“I was only gone for like twenty minutes!” Dean argued, not listening to a word.

“Forty-three minutes exactly. Where were you?”

“I went for a walk. The gardeners left the side gate open. Nobody saw me!”

“In the corner, Dean. Forty-three minutes, same amount of time you were gone; or until you decide to tell me what the hell you were thinking. Your choice.”

“Gabriel-”

“Oh, _now_ it’s Gabriel? Go. I’ll be sitting right here, working on the project I had to abandon in order to race home to find you.”

Dean went. He only lasted four minutes before he turned around and quietly asked to speak.

“Yes, _please_ ,” Gabriel huffed. “Anything is better than the silent treatment you’ve been giving me all week.”

Dean didn’t look straight at Gabriel; just slightly off to the left. “I’m sixteen years old. Almost seventeen.”

“Okay. You’re upset at getting a little kid’s punishment, I understand. Since you know you best, how do you suggest we handle this?”

Dean swallowed down the lumps in his throat. “No, that’s not...I wasn’t trying to get out of it. I’m _sixteen._ I should be in high school right now, kissing girls and giving you headaches for reasons other than just going for a walk. Smoking marijuana, ditching class, whatever. I’m going crazy being locked up here. This is so fucked up!”

“I know, but-”

“You know what’s even worse?” Dean continued quietly, but his voice was now tinted heavily with anger and accusation. “This law that put me and Sam here as your slaves? It’s _your_ fault for promoting it in the first place. And Castiel’s. So don’t expect me to be grateful to either of you for anything.  _Ever_.”

Gabriel felt himself rapidly getting smaller as his indignation deflated, while also taking note of the fact that Dean apparently didn’t include his own dad in the reasons for his hostility. Gabe didn’t really trust himself to reply for a few moments without his voice cracking, but Dean was waiting expectantly, and this was the first time he’d been open about his feelings.

_Say something, you idiot. And don’t cry._

“You’re not my slaves,” he replied carefully. “And you  _know_ Castiel is doing everything in his power to change the situation. You have every right in the world to be angry, but I’m begging you to be patient.”

“He won’t be able to do a damned thing.”

“Not for lack of trying. I want to remind you, Dean, like it or not, that despite my position you’ll get arrested for being unaccompanied in public. That means transfer to state custody and manual labor. So you _will_ stay on these grounds at all times, end of story. And I _will_  reinforce that rule with whatever means necessary if you so much as set a toe outside the gates again without a pass. Is that understood?”

Gabriel had harshly barked out this last part, and was satisfied to see Dean react in an appropriately chastened fashion to the veiled threat. The teenager breathed deeply to himself as he crossed his arms, nodded, and stared at the floor silently.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I hate yelling, and I really don’t want to break the promise I made to you back at the school, but it was incredibly selfish to leave like that. Think of your brother. Do something stupid else stupid and you’ll get separated, and I won’t be able to do a damned thing about it. Is that what you want?”

“No,” Dean replied quickly, without hostility. 

“Okay, then. Let’s put this behind us and move on.  Listen, Cas is flying home right now. If you’d like, I’ll invite him over tomorrow and you two can go out to the pool house and talk. As long as you need. Would you like that? I assume you’d prefer that over going back to your own house.”

Dean nodded again, his heart warming by a few degrees at the pointed reference to _his_ house.

“Okay. I’ll arrange it with him. Look, no matter what you say, you’re part of my family. I love you, and I want you to be safe and as comfortable as possible. The security at this house is for my protection, not your imprisonment, but if-”

“I’m not going anywhere as long as Sam is still here,” Dean interrupted hoarsely.

“Good to know.”

“May I go back to the corner now?” Dean was done talking; his fists balled back up and his expression hardened again. But it had been a good start, Gabriel knew.

“Wait. I just realized the dogs haven’t been out to play today at all. Are we just going to keep neglecting them like that on a beautiful afternoon like this?”

“Beautiful? It’s been raining sideways.”

“Eh, just a few sprinkles now.”

Dean glanced outside. “Yeah, but the sky is _black_.”

“Light grey. Don’t exaggerate.”

Dean gave in now, realizing what Gabriel was up to. The barest hit of a smile played on his mouth. For a fraction of a second only, yes, but it was definitely there.

“Should I take the dogs out to play now, before the storm starts up again?”

“What an excellent idea, thank you. Yes. I’m going back to work. I think I’d like bacon cheeseburgers for dinner, can you arrange that with Chef?”

\-----------------

There was a tentative knock on the airplane’s lavatory door, and then Devereaux’s muffled voice.

Castiel gathered himself quickly and exited, his face still glistening because he had run out of paper towels to wipe the water away. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was concerned-”

“Where are we?”

“I guess over Palm Springs somewhere. We’re starting the descent. That’s why I came back to-”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Alright.” Devereaux shifted on his feet and looked a little sideways at him. “If you’re going to be okay, I’ll go back up front.”

Castiel walked back into the main cabin and looked at the seat next to his. “Sit down, if you don’t mind. Right here. Please.”

Devereaux sat, looking more concerned than even a few minutes ago, but he said nothing and relaxed a little into the softness of the swivel seat. It was the same chair that Starsky and/or Hutch had chewed up, but since repaired, the leather seat now a slightly different color than the back and arm rests.

Castiel took another long drink of water. “Look, I, uh...we were in Philadelphia for a long time. I think I maybe said fifty words to you altogether.”

“I think closer to a hundred would be a fair guess,” Devereaux responded lightly. In truth, it really was closer to fifty. Maybe forty, all of which were probably ‘ _let’s go’_ at the end of each day.

“I’m sorry.” He really meant it, too, which surprised both of them. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while. But I wasn’t allowed to. The FBI is making a statement tomorrow regarding the status of John Winchester. I know you were friends, and that he was close to your dad.”

“Yes.” Devereaux nodded sagely; in truth, the only reason he had stayed to protect Castiel - a man he secretly disliked - was because he promised John he would. This chat was the longest they’d ever had in one sitting already, and nothing much had even been said yet.

Castiel took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I have some very bad news to tell you, and there’s no use trying to soften it. John passed away. It’s being made public in the morning. I’m sorry to break it to you this way, but I didn’t want to...are you okay?”

Devereaux wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Uh, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s good. I knew, anyway. I’m good, really...it’s kind of a relief to just hear you confirm it, one way or the other.”

“You _knew_?”

“Not hard to figure out when you guys are always talking about him in past tense.”

“Oh.” Castiel was embarrassed, but it passed quickly. “I’m truly sorry you and I started off on the wrong foot and still haven’t quite learned to walk yet. I appreciate your efforts more than I could ever express. And I mean that literally; I’m really, _really_ bad at telling people how I feel about them. Thank you for staying with me even though I’ve given you exactly zero reasons to do so. I’m not a nice person, unfortunately.”

Devereaux couldn’t really argue with that, considering the offhanded and aloof way Castiel had treated him for months, so he didn’t.

“Alright, so...where do we go from here? I don’t mean you and me, I mean just everything in general. The party, and the kids. What happens to them?”

“I’ve accepted formal leadership of the party. As for the rest of it, I can’t tell you, and it won’t be included in the FBI release. On an unrelated note, I’m going to ask Benny to come back and work for Gabriel and help take care of the boys now that their introductory period is almost over and they can start going out in public again. I’ve been trying to set up a conversation with him for a couple weeks, but he never responds.”

Devereaux was still wiping his eyes, but he was totally composed otherwise. “He’s on vacation, so don’t take it personally. Went on some backpacking trip for like three weeks. He’ll be back today, I think. Or tomorrow. He always asks about you, you know. Always tells me to say hello.”

Castiel nodded, feel greatly relieved but also confused. He thought Benny hated him for some unknown reason, especially because the man had bowed out of two lunches they’d arranged, with little explanation. Castiel hadn’t invited him again.

“Great. Thank you. I’ll call him in a few days and set up a luncheon meeting at his favorite restaurant. I’d be very pleased if you would join us. At the table and in conversation, I mean.”

Devereaux blinked in surprise. “I...are you sure?”

”Yes. No obligation, of course. I wouldn’t blame you for declining, considering...well, everything.” Castiel waved his hands around vaguely, then stared out the window, already lost in thought again. “No need to answer now,” he added absently.

The guard wasn’t sure what his answer would be, but his heart glowed a little at the invitation anyway. He kept silent and thought about John for a while, and once again mourned the loss of the man who had singlehandedly reunited the Devereaux family by taking him in as a new guard without hesitation after their first meeting. It was so hard to understand why he was gone.

——

“Sorry I missed you earlier, Cas, what’s up?”

With all the background music it sounded like Gabriel was at a party, and Castiel glanced at his watch. It was 3:30pm here in Los Angeles, on a Friday.

“I’m on my way home from the airport. What’s all that noise?”

There was a slight pause. “Happy hour.”

“Oh...okay.”

“Been a bit of a week. You sound horrible. Are you sick?”

Castiel grunted. “As a dog. I hate that saying, though. It makes no sense. I’ve never seen a dog with a bad cold.”

“You know,” Gabriel said, ignoring the observation, “I’ve been waiting three freaking weeks for you to tell me what’s going on. You’ve said nothing. Are you leaving us, or what? I don’t even know if I can wait even one more minute until home you, get you...get home. I mean.”

“Are you...are you _drunk_?”

“Had a few, yeah. It’s been a bit of a week.”

Castiel sighed. “So I’ve heard. No, I’m not leaving the party. I was confirmed. There’s literally nothing to tell you. The president can’t make a fucking decision either way.”

“Oh. Swearing. Yikes. Cas, ummm...”

“What?”

“The boys. I think we’ll have to put Dean in therapy again.”

Castiel nodded. “Sorry to hear. I’ll pay for it, of course.”

“You haven’t asked about them lately. Like, at all. Not checked in once all week. John never asked about them either when he was away and that used to drive you crazy.”

 _Pause_. “He was their _father._ We’ll talk when you’re sober again. Who’s with you?”

Gabriel rattled off a list of about 19 people, and Castiel closed his eyes in pain. All those colleagues, seeing Gabe drunk like that. It didn’t bear thinking about.

“You should go home. It’s not proper to...you know what, never mind.”

“Mmmhmm. Hey, can you come over tomorrow and talk to Dean.”

“Actually, I was hoping I could come over now. Maybe since you’re not home that might be an even better option.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said after thinking about it. “Call Amelia and have her ask Dean. I don’t know if he’s ready. He had a hell of a day.”

“Oh. I’m afraid to ask.”

“Probably best if you don’t.”

“Alright. Don’t do anything tonight that’s going to land you in the papers on Monday.”

He hung up, then dialed Amelia. Dean wasn’t ready, she confirmed after briefly consulting with the teenager. Maybe tomorrow.

So Castiel went home and laid awake all night long.

———

**Saturday Afternoon, 3pm**

Castiel said nothing much until he and Dean were in the pool house with a couple of bottles of soda and a box of kleenex. Sam had been happy to see him, of course, but despite his last heartwarming conversation with Dean, it was abundantly clear that the teenager wasn’t exactly thrilled with his return yet.

“It’s good to see you again,” Cas began as Dean made himself comfortable on one of the big patio chairs that had been pulled inside the pool house for winter. “So sorry for being late. I’ve been on the phone with the FBI for hours today. I have a lot to tell you, but first things first. I haven’t secured your freedom yet.”

Dean didn’t seem surprised. “Okay.”

“The good news on that front is that the answer wasn’t no.”

“I don’t understand why you’re even bothering. Dad was guilty, and this was our sentence. Why would they ever consider just suddenly letting us off the hook?”

Castiel took a deep breath. Here goes. “I’m going to be honest with you Dean. Now, and forever. The reasons behind that possibility are so unbelievable, that frankly, I can’t even process it. If I can’t, neither can you.”

Dean sat up a little, looking offended. “Oh.”

“Secondly...Gabriel knows you’ve been watching the news, but he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to fight with you. I want you to stop. Promise me you will.”

“Why?”

“Because a lot of stuff about your dad is going to get out soon, and most of it will be twisted into lies and be very disturbing to you. Gabriel and I will keep you updated on the actual truth.”

“I know about Uriel already. Saw it this morning.”

“You know nothing about it from just that little blurb. Gabriel told me about your call with Meg.”

Dean flushed hotly, but said nothing.

”Things are about to get even crazier,” Castiel continued coolly, “and you only heard one piece of a moving machine of a thousand pieces we’ve been working on. Promise me you’ll stop sneaking in to the tv room.”

Dean hesitated, then shook his head no.

Castiel sighed, disappointed but not surprised. “Alright. Then let’s move on. This next part is going to be very hard to hear, but I need you to be strong. If you’re not ready, tell me.”

Dean glanced at the kleenex box, then back to Castiel. “Um. Will I ever be ready? Go ahead.”

“Your dad didn’t get a prison term. He was headed that direction, at least twenty years. Then something happened and he...he was sentenced to death.”

“Okay. That makes sense,” Dean said calmly, his shaking voice betraying his placid expression and thudding heartbeat. “He said…”

Castiel didn’t prompt him, despite his immediate, keen interest in what John had said. Something changed the teenager’s mind, though, and he waved his hand dismissively.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Cas. Go ahead.”

 _Damn._ “Alright, well, this is the worst part. I can’t even fathom how I could possibly soften the news. Your dad, he really did have a heart attack. That was the legal cause of his death, and what they had to put on the certificate. But it was...it wasn’t natural. It was artificially induced. By lethal injection.”

“Uhhh.” Dean broke into a heavy sweat now, too, and his face was bright red.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Castiel asked needlessly.

“Yeah. You know what, maybe I wasn’t ready for this news after all.”

“You’re taking it very well, considering.”

“Not really. Um...did you ever consider that maybe this was something you could have kept from me, that I would have actually been fine with _not knowing_?”

Castiel shook his head. “No. I never considered that. No one on earth deserves the truth more than you. I will let you decide when we should tell Sam, if ever. Bobby and Gabriel know, but I basically told them I would kill them both if they didn’t let me tell you myself. So don’t blame them. If you’re going to be mad at someone for that, it should be me.”

“I’m not mad. But all that crap they said about him dying in his sleep, and no pain-”

“It was true. They fully sedated him first. He felt nothing, and I’m told he was in good spirits before that. Joking around, and not concerned about dying, at all. Which is, of course, so typically John.”

It was, too. Dean could picture the scene easily. He looked at his hands, then wiped his eyes with his sleeves again, but said nothing. Asked nothing.

Castiel waited a while, then gently probed. “You mentioned a few moments ago that your dad said something to you. What was it, exactly? It might help me.”

*

_I chose this, Dean. Don’t blame anyone else. I’m content. Take care of your brother, and be really good for Cas. I love you. We’ll be together again someday, and none of this will matter._

*

Dean had thought he meant it literally - as in, _we’ll be together again in maybe ten or twenty years and move to a cabin off the grid in Yosemite,_ or similar. The idea that he meant another thing entirely - something otherworldly - had never occurred to the teenager. Not even _once_ , until this very moment. 

The words were meant for him alone, and no one else. Gently murmured into his ear within sight of the FBI, but not within hearing. Their lives had been so public, so exposed, so open for interpretation by strangers, that this parting reassurance was the only secret they had left to share between the two of them.

And it was going to stay that way.

“No,” Dean replied to Castiel in a near-whisper, multiple streams of tears now trickling down his face. “It won’t help you. But it helped me.”

Castiel handed Dean the box of kleenex. “I feel like I should leave you alone, even though I don’t want to. Is that what you want?”

Dean nodded and sniffled, then looked up at the sound of something suddenly raking against glass. He peered around Cas to the pool house door, where a familiar face was staring at him intently, paw pressed flat against the screen.

“Angela’s here!” he yelped, a little startled.

“Yes, I asked Gabriel to go get her. Want me to let her in?”

“Of course!”

Castiel squeezed him on the shoulder and got up to open the door. Angela came bursting in, sliding a little on the tile, and nearly knocked Dean to the ground in all her unabashedly canine exuberance.

\---------

Castiel shut the door and went back in the house, where Gabriel was waiting in the kitchen impatiently, and angrily, for any kind of news from his boss.

“I told him about the execution,” Cas said flatly as he picked up an orange from the fruit basket and stopped at the island to peel it.

“Oh. Shit. You didn’t tell me you were gonna-”

“Well, I did. So that’s over with. Don’t mention it to him, obviously, best to leave it alone.”

“You _think?_ ” Gabriel was stunned. “Alright. Change of topic, then. Uriel was arrested last night.”

“I know,” Cas replied calmly. “We should go into your office.”

“Of course you know,” Gabriel continued without a pause as walked them down the hall and opened the heavy door for them both. “And then Lucifer sent out that incredible statement this morning. What in the holy hell went down in Philadelphia? You said yesterday afternoon nothing was moving along, next thing I know I’m waking up to a freakin’ overnight political apocalypse. You’ve got one a hell of a poker face, Cas.”

“Thank you, I think. But I wasn’t lying. They were all at a stalemate when I left, so I’m just as surprised as everyone else. The president couldn’t make a decision on anything, and I was about to stroke out from the stress, so I insisted they let me go home for a few days to catch up on work, since you’ve been the running the place by yourself. Thank you for that, by the way. But then…”

Castiel told the story of everything that happened after that, all occurring within the past 18 hours. Gabriel couldn’t believe it, but then he could...and then he couldn’t again. Turned out Lucifer himself had finally lost his patience with the pace of the investigation, threw up two middle fingers to the president, and took matters into his own hands.

Even more noteworthy, he had done it _publicly._ He started with a damning press release and media statement at 4pm on Friday, shortly after which Uriel was taken into custody in front of his entire staff. Lucifer, of course, was immediately relieved of his leadership position by the president himself for interfering in an official investigation, but he had planned for that.

So now Uriel was in jail, long before his time was due (or well after, depending on one’s point of view), a fact which, on the surface, seemed destined to derail the investigation so thoroughly that all the evidence tracks carefully laid down would be completely obliterated, a smoking trail of wreckage left strewn along them. Lucifer had planned for that too, of course. He had learned a lot from John without even meaning to.

“ _Witness tampering_? Are you fucking kidding me?” Gabriel exclaimed as he stormed around his home office in a fit of enraged disbelief. He was exhausted already, and it had only been about ten minutes since the conversation started. “That’s all they can pin on him? After everything he did?”

Castiel stood placidly by the credenza, carefully peeling a second orange. “Calm down. Al Capone went down on tax evasion charges when they couldn’t nail him on anything else. I’ll take what we can get.”

“Jesus Christ. Uriel will _maybe_ get a few years in jail. Which witness is claiming it?”

Castiel smiled beatifically and popped a wedge of orange in his mouth. “That’s the best part. Lucifer is claiming Uriel tampered with _him_ and induced him to file false charges.”

“Jesus Christ,” Gabriel repeated, stunned. “How the hell are you so calm right now?”

Castiel shrugged. “Because it gets even better. Turns out Lucifer was in cahoots with Gadreel the entire time I was in Philadelphia. Before that, actually. Ever since we met in Temecula when I confirmed he was our mole.”

“Oh, wow. Wait….you did _what_ in Temecula??”

“Never mind. Anyway, Lucifer got a hold of him and tipped him off, without the FBI knowing. Told him Uriel had done him dirty, and apparently befriended him instead of threatening him. I’m not sure of the details on that yet. So Gadreel agreed to reconnect with Uriel and start recording the conversations. When they had enough to go on, Lucifer pulled the fire alarm. Now the FBI can’t possibly stall or hide the investigation any longer.”

“Shit. They must be pissed.”

“Let’s just say today’s calls contained more obscenities than I’ve ever heard in my life, on all occasions combined. Even John would have blushed.”

Gabriel was speechless when Castiel smiled again. _Smiled_. Genuinely.  _Twice in one day._

 _”_ Alright. So...what do we do now?” Gabe asked, shaking his head in amazement.

“Nothing. These oranges are amazing, by the way. Where’d you buy them?”

\----------------------------

The weekend was a veritable bloodbath for the Opportunists. The Insurrectionists said nothing, responded to zero requests for statements, and Castiel made the decision to close the office for the upcoming week. Then he actually shut off his phone and his computer, and stayed in bed with Angela for two days straight. Thanks to all the Nyquil he needed to fight his cold, he slept fairly peacefully through the entire ordeal.

This was contrary to Gabriel, of course, who monitored every word said or written about the affair and drank a entire six-pack of Red Bulls in 36 hours to keep him going.

Seven weeks after the fracas began, it was over as suddenly as it had begun. Gadreel had somehow gained immunity for his testimony and would get off scot-free, a fact which pissed off Gabriel, Castiel, and Lucifer to no end. But they all knew that the man simply wouldn’t have cooperated with the FBI otherwise, and they’d be back at square one without him. So they each quietly resolved to find peace within themselves for the compromise. Some things you just couldn’t fight.

Lucifer received a two-year sentence in a minimum security facility for his part in the affair, which basically amounted to gross negligence and violation of public trust for being totally oblivious in regards to the actions of his right hand man. He would have received more if he’d been implicated in Ruby’s murder, but nobody was. There simply wasn’t enough proof of anything, and Uriel had at least been smart enough to not be recorded talking about it. But the Opportunists Organization was found culpable anyway in a separate civil lawsuit Castiel had quietly filed on the side, and eventually were ordered to pay multi-million dollar settlements to both Ruby’s family and the Winchester sons’ trust funds.

Uriel got 3 years in a nasty federal prison for witness tampering after the hung jury argued for three weeks over the other alleged crimes, the charges for which were eventually dismissed. They simply couldn’t buy all of Gadreel’s claims after multiple witnesses had thrown reasonable doubt upon his integrity and motives. And they weren't wrong.

It didn’t matter in the end, though. Uriel was brutally shanked in prison six days into his sentence by another inmate, and was left to die alone, gasping and panicking, his hands cupped full and overflowing with his own blood and vomit.

Lucifer had planned for that, too.

  ***** EPILOGUE *****

**March 2, 2019**

**Novak House**

“Dean?” Castiel poked patiently at the teenager in his bed for the third time, then shook him a little. Nothing. He waited a moment longer, and then pulled the covers off without mercy once he remembered John’s stories of what it took to get the kid up.

“Mmmphhm,” he mumbled as he turned around and cracked open one eye.

“Hi,” Castiel said gently. “Do you know what day it is?”

Dean startled a little, then sat up quickly, rubbing his bleary eyes. “Yes. Sorry, I’m up.”

”Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”

”Yes, sir.”

”Please don’t call me sir anymore. We talked about this.”

”I know, sorry. I’m up.”

”Okay. See you in the garage in 16 minutes.”

Castiel smiled, then went downstairs to find Sam, who was putting the collars on the dogs and refilling their water bowls. He was ready to go, of course, so Cas turned and headed down the stairs and into Benny’s office. He and Lisa were there, chatting happily and sharing cinnamon banana bread that Dean had made the night before.

“Hey boss.”

“Ready to go, Benny? Big day.”

”Been ready for about a year. Let’s do it.”

\----

The quartet gathered in the garage, where Dean was trembling slightly from nerves. The 17-year old pulled his hoodie tighter around him, and wolfed down another bite of the bacon breakfast burrito Chef had made especially for him.

”You ready, Dean?” Castiel asked quietly. “Sam?”

They nodded, so Castiel closed the door and locked it behind him using the new fingerprint panels he’d insisted be installed on every door to keep John’s sons extra safe.

“Okay, Benny. Let’s get this little parade started, then. Boys, into the car.”

Benny grinned, then went out to meet up with Devereaux to get the SUVs positioned in the driveway.

Castiel put the key into the ignition, then turned and regarded his best friend’s sons fondly. “Happy Freedom Day. Today is going to be a bit of a circus, I’m afraid. But you already know that.”

Dean smiled a little, his eyes slightly moist. “Yeah. I don’t think I’m going to mind all the cameras for a change. Let them look!”

“Don’t go and become a ham on me, now,” Cas joked as he backed the car out and waited for his guards to position their SUVs in front and in back of them.

Twenty minutes later the little procession - at first surrounded by news vans from every tv station within 200 miles - pulled by itself into a parking lot which had been closed and cleared out for the morning just for them, even screened from view of the street with black netting similar to the kind used for film shoots. Castiel pulled through into that private area, closest to the building, then he and Sam got out.

Dean swallowed down the last of his burrito, slid over to get behind the wheel, and poked his head out the window.

“Okay, guys. Here I go. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck. You’ve had enough practice. Just remember to take it easy with those brakes, you were still too hard on them yesterday. What did I tell you is most important to watch out for?”

Dean sighed a little, but it was all in good humor. “Pedestrians and bicycles. I know. Got it.”

“Good. Alright then.”

Castiel walked away to greet the DMV manager to chat with him for a moment and give him a check. Then the man got into the car with Dean and buckled in. Castiel, Benny, Sammy and Devereaux all stood back to wave him off and shout good luck, despite Castiel’s claim that he didn’t need it.

Dean grinned, then turned his attention into the car and keyed the ignition.

_That rumble._

_Oh my god. Dad...I wish you were here to see this._

He got sad for a moment until he remembered his dad _had_ been here to see this. It had been one of the man’s proudest moments. And now Dean would have the memory of Castiel here to see it, too.

In reality, Cas could have easily turned in the paperwork for Dean’s old license to be reinstated, which would have taken all of three minutes, but he’d insisted on a new test to make sure Dean was ready. Again. But Dean didn’t mind; he was pretty sure Cas also just wanted to be here for this event and make a memory of his own, on this first day as a second father and freshly retired former leader of the Insurrectionists.

“Okay,” the instructor began. “Take a right out of the parking lot, Dean. We’ll go about half a mile and turn left.”

Dean’s heart glowed as he pressed the accelerator just the right amount in order to pull out of the parking lot without lurching, and drove carefully down Santa Monica Boulevard. He sucked in a surprised breath at the sight before him. The ocean seemed an impossible shade of blue today, and somehow stretching into the sky farther than the horizon should allow. The trees whizzed by three times greener and brighter than he remembered, the pedestrians all absurdly radiant in their colorful spring attire.

It was utterly dazzling.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just roll through that stop sign,” the instructor said quietly. “Turn left at the second light.”

Dean quickly wiped his eyes as he flipped on his turn signal, then hesitated.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly. “For the stop sign, too, but...can we go straight for a little while longer?”

To the ocean, he meant. As far away as he could get right now from what lay behind him. The instructor smiled a little; Castiel had quietly asked him to give Dean some leeway from the normal test route, within reason of course.

“Sure. Just mind the signs and keep up with the traffic. Going a bit too slow at the moment.”

Dean smiled now too as the light turned green and he undid the turn signal and pressed the accelerator again; more firmly this time. _There. That’s better._ The Impala purred contentedly at the faster speed, and Dean’s eyes glistened again as he patted her gearshift lovingly. He changed lanes once, then again, then confidently ramped up to meet the speed limit.

“You seem a lot more comfortable already. That’s good,” the instructor declared happily. “I think you’re going to be fine, Dean. You’ve got this. Just pay attention, keep your eyes on the road.”

Dean was starting to grin broadly, and he nodded in response, but he didn’t actually hear the man’s words at all.

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” he was gently murmuring into the steering wheel. “I’ve got you. We’ve got this, Baby. We’re going to have so much fun. Just you wait...”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
